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"  LOOK  !" 


THE 

IRON 
WOMAN 


BY 

MARGARET     DELAND 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS   BY 
F      WALTER    TAYLOR 


'  This  Tvas  the  iniquity  .  .  .  fulness  of  bread,  <n>d 
ibtindanct  of  idleness.  .  .  .  " — LLZEKIEL,  xvl.,  49 


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'-•'     .  V  r  >•!  !./• 

e*«    '•  '  '      **    l*    c         *      •"•  I 


PUBLISHED    SEPTEMBER. 


TO     MY 

PATIENT.     RUTHLESS,     INSPIRING      CRITIC 
LORIN     DELANO 

AUGUST      12.     1911 


223914 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


LOOK 


"BLAIR  is  IN  LOVE  WITH  ME!"      .......  rawer     74 

"l    THINK    YOU    ARE    REASONABLE    ENOUGH    FOR   BOTH 

OF    US"      ..............  158 

"ELIZABETH,   MARRY  ME!"     .........  226 

"OF  COURSE  YOU  KNOW  MY  OPINION  OF  YOU  "   .     .     .  306 
SHE  WHEELED  ABOUT,   AND  STOOD,   SWAYING  WITH 

FRIGHT       ..............  344 

"WILL  YOU  LIVE?     WILL  YOU  GIVE  ME  LIFE?"     .     .  438 
CLUTCHING  HER  SHOULDER,  SHE  LOOKED  HARD  INTO 

THE  YOUNGER  WOMAN'S  FACE     ......  "      450 


. 


THE     IRON     WOMAN 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 


CHAPTER  I 

"CLIMB  up  in  this  tree,  and  play  house!"  Elizabeth 
Ferguson  commanded.  She  herself  had  climbed  to  the 
lowest  branch  of  an  apple-tree  in  the  Maitland  orchard, 
and  sat  there,  swinging  her  white-stockinged  legs  so 
recklessly  that  the  three  children  whom  she  had  sum 
moned  to  her  side,  backed  away  for  safety.  "If  you 
don't,"  she  said,  looking  down  at  them,  "I'm  afraid, 
perhaps,  maybe,  I'll  get  mad." 

Her  foreboding  was  tempered  by  a  giggle  and  by  the 
deepening  dimple  in  her  cheek,  but  all  the  same  she 
sighed  with  a  sort  of  impersonal  regret  at  the  prospect 
of  any  unpleasantness.  "It  would  be  too  bad  if  I  got 
mad,  wouldn't  it?"  she  said  thoughtfully.  The  others 
looked  at  one  another  in  consternation.  They  knew  so 
well  what  it  meant  to  have  Elizabeth  "mad,"  that  Nan 
nie  Maitland,  the  oldest  of  the  little  group,  said  at  once, 
helplessly,  "Well." 

Nannie  was  always  helpless  with  Elizabeth,  just  as 
she  was  helpless  with  her  half-brother,  Blair,  though  she 
was  ten  and  Elizabeth  and  Blair  were  only  eight;  but 
how  could  a  little  girl  like  Nannie  be  anything  but  help 
less  before  a  brother  whom  she  adored,  and  a  wonderful 
being  like  Elizabeth? — Elizabeth!  who  always  knevv 
exactly  what  she  wanted  to  do,  and  who  instantly  "got 
mad,"  if  you  wouldn't  say  you'd  do  it,  too;  got  mad, 

i 


.        '      T HE   IRON,  WOMAN 

and  then  repented,  and  hugged  you  and  kissed  you,  and 
actually  cried  (or  got  mad  again) ,  if  you  refused  to  ac 
cept  as  a  sign  of  your  forgiveness  her  new  slate-pencil, 
decorated  with  strips  of  red  -  and  -  white  paper  just 
like  a  little  barber's  pole!  No  wonder  Nannie,  timid 
and  good-natured,  was  helpless  before  such  a  sweet, 
furious  little  creature!  Blair  had  more  backbone  than 
his  sister,  but  even  he  felt  Elizabeth's  heel  upon  his 
neck.  David  Richie,  a  silent,  candid,  very  stubborn 
small  boy,  was,  after  a  momentary  struggle,  as  meek  as 
the  rest  of  them.  Now,  when  she  commanded  them  all 
to  climb,  it  was  David  who  demurred,  because,  he  said, 
he  spoke  first  for  Indians  tomahawking  you  in  the  back 
parlor. 

''Very  well!"  said  the  despot;  "  play  your  old 
Indians!  I'll  never  speak  to  any  of  you  again  as  long 
as  I  live!" 

"I've  got  on  my  new  pants,"  David  objected. 

"Take  'em  off!"  said  Elizabeth.  And  there  is  no 
knowing  what  might  have  happened  if  the  decorous 
Nannie  had  not  come  to  the  rescue. 

"  That's  not  proper  to  do  out-of-doors;  and  Miss  White 
says  not  to  say  '  pants.' " 

Elizabeth  looked  thoughtful.  "Maybe  it  isn't  prop 
er,"  she  admitted;  "but  David,  honest,  I  took  a  hate 
to  being  tommy-hocked  the  last  time  we  played  it;  so 
please,  dear  David!  If  you'll  play  house  in  the  tree, 
I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  my  taffy."  She  took  a  little 
sticky  package  out  of  her  pocket  and  licked  her  lips  to 
indicate  its  contents; — David  yielded,  shinning  up  the 
trunk  of  the  tree,  indifferent  to  the  trousers,  which  had 
been  on  his  mind  ever  since  he  had  put  them  on  his  legs. 

Blair  followed  him,  but  Nannie  squatted  on  the  ground 
content  to  merely  look  at  the  courageous  three. 

"Come  on  up,"  said  Elizabeth.  Nannie  shook  her 
little  blond  head.  At  which  the  others  burst  into  a 
shrill  chorus:  "'Fraid-cat!  'fraid-cat!  'f raid-cat!" 

2 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Nannie  smiled  placidly;  it  never  occurred  to  her  to 
deny  such  an  obviously  truthful  title.  "  Blair,"  she  said, 
continuing  a  conversation  interrupted  by  Elizabeth's 
determination  to  climb,  "Blair,  why  do  you  say  things 
that  make  Mamma  mad  ?  What's  the  sense  ?  If  it  makes 
her  mad  for  you  to  say  things  are  ugly,  why  do  you  ?" 

'"Cause,"  Blair  said  briefly.  Even  at  eight  Blair  dis 
liked  both  explanations  and  decisions,  and  his  slave  and 
half-sister  rarely  pressed  for  either.  With  the  exception 
of  his  mother,  whose  absorption  in  business  had  never 
given  her  time  to  get  acquainted  with  him,  most  of 
the  people  about  Blair  were  his  slaves.  Elizabeth's 
governess,  Miss  White — called  by  Elizabeth,  for  reasons 
of  her  own,  "Cherry-pie  "  —  had  completely  surren 
dered  to  his  brown  eyes;  the  men  in  the  Maitland 
Works  toadied  to  him;  David  Richie  blustered,  per 
haps,  but  always  gave  in  to  him;  in  his  own  home, 
Harris,  who  was  a  cross  between  a  butler  and  a  maid-of- 
all-work,  adored  him  to  the  point  of  letting  him  make 
candy  on  the  kitchen  stove  —  probably  the  greatest 
expression  of  affection  possible  to  the  kitchen;  in  fact, 
little  Elizabeth  Ferguson  was  the  only  person  in  his 
world  who  did  not  knuckle  down  to  this  pleasant  and 
lovable  child.  But  then,  Elizabeth  never  knuckled 
down  to  anybody!  Certainly  not  to  kind  old  Cherry-pie, 
whose  timid  upper  lip  quivered  like  a  rabbit's  when  she 
was  obliged  to  repeat  to  her  darling  some  new  rule  of 
Robert  Ferguson's  for  his  niece's  upbringing;  nor  did 
she  knuckle  down  to  her  uncle; — she  even  declared  she 
was  not  at  all  afraid  of  him !  This  was  almost  unbeliev 
able  to  the  others,  who  scattered  like  robins  if  they  heard 
his  step.  And  she  had  greater  courage  than  this;  she 
had,  in  fact,  audacity!  for  she  said  she  was  willing — this 
the  others  told  each  other  in  awed  tones — she  said  she 
had  "just  as  lieves"  walk  right  up  and  speak  to  Mrs. 
Maitland  herself,  and  ask  her  for  twenty  cents  so  she 
could  treat  the  whole  crowd  to  ice-cream !  That  is,  she 

3 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

would  just  as  lieves,  if  she  should  happen  to  want  to. 
Now,  as  she  sat  in  the  apple-tree  swinging  her  legs  and 
sharing  her  taffy,  it  occurred  to  her  to  mention,  apropos 
of  nothing,  her  opinion  of  Mrs.  Maitland's  looks: 

"I  like  Blair's  mother  best;  but  David's  mother  is 
prettier  than  Blair's  mother." 

"It  isn't  polite  to  brag  on  mothers,"  said  David,  sur 
veying  his  new  trousers  complacently,  "but  I  know  what 
I  think." 

Blair,  jouncing  up  and  down  on  his  branch,  agreed 
with  unoff  ended  candor.  "  'Course  she's  prettier.  Any 
body  is.  Mother's  ugly." 

"  It  isn't  right  to  say  things  like  that  out  of  the  family," 
Nannie  observed. 

"This  is  the  family.  You're  going  to  marry  David, 
and  I'm  going  to  marry  Elizabeth.  And  I'm  going  to  be 
awfully  rich ;  and  I'll  give  all  you  children  a  lot  of  money. 
Jimmy  Sullivan — he's  a  friend  of  mine;  I  got  acquainted 
with  him  yesterday,  and  he's  the  biggest  puddler  in  our 
Works.  Jimmie  said,  'You're  the  only  son,'  he  said, 
'you'll  get  it  all.'  'Course  I  told  him  I'd  give  him  some," 
said  Blair. 

At  this  moment  Elizabeth  was  moved  to  catch  David 
round  the  neck,  and  give  him  a  loud  kiss  on  his  left  ear. 
David  sighed.  "You  may  kiss  me,"  he  said  patiently; 
"but  I'd  rather  you'd  tell  me  when  you  want  to.  You 
knocked  off  my  cap." 

"Say,  David,"  Nannie  said,  flinging  his  cap  up  to  him, 
"  Blair  can  stand  on  his  head  and  count  five.  You  can't." 

At  this  David's  usual  admiration  for  Blair  suffered  an 
eclipse ;  he  grew  very  red,  then  exploded :  "  I — 1 — I've  had 
mumps,  and  I  have  two  warts,  and  Blair  hasn't.  And  I 
have  a  real  dining-room  at  my  house,  and  Blair  hasn't!" 

Nannie  flew  to  the  rescue:  "You  haven't  got  a  real 
mother.  You  are  only  an  adopted." 

"Well,  what  are  you?"  David  said,  angrily;  "you're 
nothing  but  a  Step." 

4 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"  I  haven't  got  any  kind  of  a  mother,"  Elizabeth 
said,  with  complacent  melancholy. 

"Stop  fighting,"  Blair  commanded  amiably;  "David 
is  right;  we  have  a  pigsty  of  a  dining-room  at  our  house." 
lie  paused  to  bend  over  and  touch  with  an  ecstatic 
ringer  a  flake  of  lichen  covering  with  its  serpent  green  the 
damp,  black  bark  in  the  crotch  of  the  old  tree.  "  Isn't 
that  pretty?"  he  said. 

"You  ought  not  to  say  things  about  our  house," 
Nannie  reproved  him.  As  Blair  used  to  say  when  he 
grew  up,  "Nannie  was  born  proper." 

"Why  not?"  said  Blair.  "They  know  everything  is 
ugly  at  our  house.  They've  got  real  dining-rooms  at 
their  houses;  they  don't  have  old  desks  round,  the  way 
we  do." 

It  was  in  the  late  sixties  that  these  children  played  in 
the  apple-tree  and  arranged  their  conjugal  future;  at 
that  time  the  Maitland  house  was  indeed,  as  poor  little 
Blair  said,  "  ugly."  Twenty  years  before,  its  gardens  and 
meadows  had  stretched  over  to  the  river;  but  the  estate 
had  long  ago  come  down  in  size  and  gone  up  in  dollars. 
Now,  there  was  scarcely  an  acre  of  sooty  green  left,  and 
it  was  pressed  upon  by  the  yards  of  the  Maitland  Works, 
and  almost  islanded  by  railroad  tracks.  Grading  had 
left  the  stately  and  dilapidated  old  house  somewhat 
above  the  level  of  a  street  noisy  with  incessant  teaming, 
and  generally  fetlock-deep  in  black  mud.  The  house 
stood  a  little  back  from  the  badly  paved  sidewalk;  its 
meager  dooryard  was  inclosed  by  an  iron  fence — a  row 
of  black  and  rusted  spears,  spotted  under  their  tines  with 
innumerable  gray  cocoons.  (Blair  and  David  made  con 
stant  and  furtive  attempts  to  lift  these  spears,  socketed 
in  crumbling  lead  in  the  granite  base,  for  of  course  there 
could  be  nothing  better  for  fighting  Indians  than  a  real 
iron  spear.)  The  orchard  behind  the  house  had  been  cut 
in  two  by  a  spur  track,  which  brought  jolting  gondola 
cars  piled  with  red  ore  down  to  the  furnace.  The  half- 

5 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

dozen  apple-trees  that  were  left  stretched  gaunt  arms 
over  sour,  grassless  earth;  they  put  out  faint  flakes  of 
blossoms  in  the  early  spring,  and  then  a  fleeting  show  of 
greenness,  which  in  a  fortnight  shriveled  and  blackened 
out  of  all  semblance  of  foliage.  But  all  the  same  the 
children  found  it  a  delightful  place  to  play,  although 
Blair  sometimes  said  sullenly  that  it  was  "ugly."  Blair 
hated  ugly  things,  and,  poor  child!  he  was  assailed  by 
ugliness  on  every  side.  The  queer,  disorderly  dining- 
room,  in  which  for  reasons  of  her  own  Mrs.  Maitland 
transacted  so  much  of  her  business  that  it  had  become 
for  all  practical  purposes  an  office  of  her  Works,  was 
perhaps  the  "ugliest"  thing  in  the  world  to  the  little 
boy. 

"Why  don't  we  have  a  real  dining-room?"  he  said 
once;  "why  do  we  have  to  eat  in  a  office ?" 

"We'll  eat  in  the  kitchen,  if  I  find  it  convenient,"  his 
mother  told  him,  looking  at  him  over  her  newspaper, 
which  was  propped  against  a  silver  coffee-urn  that  had 
found  a  clear  space  on  a  breakfast  table  cluttered  with 
papers  and  ledgers. 

"They  have  a  bunch  of  flowers  on  the  table  up  at 
David's  house,"  the  little  boy  complained;  "I  don't  see 
why  we  can't." 

"  I  don't  eat  flowers,"  Mrs.  Maitland  said  grimly. 

"I  don't  eat  papers,"  Blair  said,  under  his  breath; 
and  his  mother  looked  at  him  helplessly.  How  is  one  to 
reply  to  a  child  of  eight  who  makes  remarks  of  this  kind  ? 
Mrs.  Maitland  did  not  know;  it  was  one  of  the  many 
things  she  did  not  know  in  relation  to  her  son;  for  at 
that  time  she  loved  him  with  her  mind  rather  than  her 
body,  so  she  had  none  of  those  soft  intuitions  and  per 
suasions  of  the  flesh  which  instruct  most  mothers.  In 
her  perplexity  she  expressed  the  sarcastic  anger  one 
might  vent  upon  an  equal  under  the  same  circumstances : 

"  You'd  eat  nothing  at  all,  young  man,  let  me  tell  you, 
if  it  wasn't  for  the  '  papers,'  as  you  call  'em,  in  this  house !" 

6 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

But  it  was  no  wonder  that  Blair  called  it  ugly — the 
house,  the  orchard,  the  Works — even  his  mother,  in  her 
rusty  black  alpaca  dress,  sitting  at  her  desk  in  the  big, 
dingy  dining-room,  driving  her  body  and  soul,  and  the 
bodies  and  souls  of  her  workmen — all  for  the  sake  of  the 
little,  shrinking  boy,  who  wanted  a  bunch  of  flowers  on 
the  table.  Poor  mother!  Poor  son!  And  poor  little 
proper,  perplexed  half-sister,  looking  on,  and  trying  to 
make  peace.  Nannie's  perplexities  had  begun  very  far 
back.  Of  course  she  was  too  young  when  her  father 
married  his  second  wife  to  puzzle  over  that;  but  if  she 
did  not,  other  people  did.  Why  a  mild,  vague  young 
widower  who  painted  pictures  nobody  bought,  and  was 
as  unpractical  as  a  man  could  be  whose  partnership  in  an 
iron-works  was  a  matter  of  inheritance — why  such  a  man 
wanted  to  marry  Miss  Sarah  Blair  was  beyond  anybody's 
wisdom.  It  is  conceivable,  indeed,  that  he  did  not 
want  to. 

There  were  rumors  that  after  the  death  of  Nannie's 
mother,  Herbert  Maitland  had  been  inclined  to  look  for 
consolation  to  a  certain  Miss  Molly  Wharton  (she  that 
afterward  married  another  widower,  Henry  Knight) ; 
and  everybody  thought  Miss  Molly  was  willing  to  smile 
upon  him.  Be  that  as  it  may,  he  suddenly  found  himself 
the  husband  of  his  late  partner's  daughter,  a  woman  eight 
years  older  than  he,  and  at  least  four  inches  taller;  a 
silent,  plain  woman,  of  devastating  common  sense,  who 
contradicted  all  those  femininities  and  soft  lovelinesses 
so  characteristic,  not  only  of  his  first  wife  but  of  pretty 
Molly  Wharton  also. 

John  Blair,  the  father  of  the  second  Mrs.  Maitland,  an 
uneducated,  extremely  intelligent  man,  had  risen  from 
puddling  to  partnership  in  the  Maitland  Works.  There 
had  been  no  social  relations  between  Mr.  Maitland,  Sr., 
and  this  new  member  of  the  firm,  but  the  older  man  had 
a  very  intimate  respect,  and  even  admiration  for  John 
Blair.  When  he  came  to  die  he  confided  his  son's  inter- 

7 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ests  to  his  partner  with  absolute  confidence  that  they 
would  be  safe.  ''Herbert  has  no  gumption,  John,"  he 
said;  "he  wants  to  be  an  'artist.'  You've  got  to  look 
after  him."  "I  will,  Mr.  Maitland,  I  will,"  said  John 
Blair,  snuffling  and  blowing  his  nose  on  a  big  red  pocket- 
handkerchief.  He  did  look  after  him.  He  put  Herbert's 
affairs  ahead  of  his  own,  and  he  made  it  clear  to  his 
daughter,  who  in  business  matters  was,  curiously  enough, 
his  right-hand  man,  that  "Maitland's  boy"  was  always, 
as  he  expressed  it,  "to  have  the  inside  track." 

"I  ain't  bothering  about  you,  Sally;  I'll  leave  you 
enough.  And  if  I  didn't,  you  could  scratch  gravel  for 
yourself.  But  Maitland's  boy  ain't  our  kind.  He  must 
be  taken  care  of." 

When  John  Blair  died,  perhaps  a  sort  of  faithfulness 
to  his  wishes  made  his  Sally  "take  care"  of  Herbert 
Maitland  by  marrying  him.  "His  child  certainly  does 
need  a  mother,"  she  thought; — "  an  intelligent  mother, 
not  a  goose."  By  and  by  she  told  Herbert  of  his 
child's  need;  or  at  any  rate  helped  him  to  infer  it. 
And  somehow,  before  he  knew  it,  he  married  her.  By 
inheritance  they  owned  the  Works  between  them; 
so  really  their  marriage  was,  as  the  bride  expressed 
it,  "a  very  sensible  arrangement";  and  any  sensible 
arrangement  appealed  to  John  Blair's  daughter. 
But  after  a  breathless  six  months  of  partnership — in 
business  if  in  nothing  else — Herbert  Maitland,  leav 
ing  behind  him  his  little  two-year-old  Nannie,  arid 
an  unborn  boy  of  whose  approaching  advent  he 
was  ignorant,  got  out  of  the  world  as  expeditiously 
as  consumption  could  take  him.  Indeed,  his  wife  had 
so  jostled  him  and  deafened  him  and  dazed  him  that 
there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  die — so  that  there 
might  be  room  for  her  expanding  energy.  Yet  she  loved 
him;  nobody  who  saw  her  in  those  first  silent,  agonized 
months  could  doubt  that  she  loved  him.  Her  pain 
expressed  itself,  not  in  moans  or  tears  or  physical  pros- 

8 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

tration,  but  in  work.  Work,  which  had  been  an  interest, 
became  a  refuge.  Under  like  circumstances  some  people 
take  to  religion  and  some  to  drink;  as  Mrs.  Maitland's 
religion  had  never  been  more  than  church-going  and 
contributions  to  foreign  missions,  it  was,  of  course,  no 
help  under  the  strain  of  grief;  and  as  her  temperament 
did  not  dictate  the  other  means  of  consolation,  she  turned 
to  work.  She  worked  herself  numb ;  very  likely  she  had 
hours  when  she  did  not  feel  her  loss.  But  she  did  not 
feel  anything  else.  Not  even  her  baby's  little  clinging 
hands,  or  his  milky  lips  at  her  breast.  She  did  her  duty 
by  him;  she  hired  a  reliable  woman  to  take  charge  of 
him,  and  she  was  careful  to  appear  at  regular  hours  to 
nurse  him.  She  ordered  toys  for  him,  and  as  she  shared 
the  naive  conviction  of  her  day  that  church-going  and 
religion  were  synonymous,  she  began,  when  he  was  four 
years  old,  to  take  him  to  church.  In  her  shiny,  shabby 
black  silk,  which  had  been  her  Sunday  costume  ever  since 
it  had  been  purchased  as  part  of  her  curiously  limited 
trousseau  she  sat  in  a  front  pew,  between  the  two  chil 
dren,  and  felt  that  she  was  doing  her  duty  to  both  of 
them.  A  sense  of  duty  without  maternal  instinct  is  not, 
perhaps,  as  baleful  a  thing  as  maternal  instinct  without 
a  sense  of  duty,  but  it  is  sterile ;  and  in  the  first  few  years 
of  her  bereavement,  the  big,  suffering  woman  seemed  to 
have  nothing  but  duty  to  offer  to  her  child.  Nannie's 
puzzles  began  then.  "  Why  don't  Mamma  hug  my  baby 
brother?"  she  used  to  ask  the  nurse,  who  had  no  explana 
tion  to  offer.  The  baby  brother  was  ready  enough  to  hug 
Nannie,  and  his  eager,  wet  little  kisses  on  her  rosy  cheeks 
sealed  her  to  his  service  while  he  was  still  in  petticoats. 

Blair  was  three  years  old  before,  under  the  long  atro 
phy  of  grief,  Sarah  Maitland's  maternal  instinct  began  to 
stir.  When  it  did,  she  was  chilled  by  the  boy's  shrinking 
from  her  as  if  from  a  stranger;  she  was  chilled,  too,  by 
another  sort  of  repulsion,  which  with  the  hideous  candor 
of  childhood  he  made  no  effort  to  conceal.  One  of  his 

9 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

first  expressions  of  opinion  had  been  contained  in  the 
single  word  "uggy,"  accompanied  by  a  finger  pointed  at 
his  mother.  Whenever  she  sneezed — and  she  was  one  of 
those  people  who  cannot,  or  do  not,  moderate  a  sneeze — 
Blair  had  a  nervous  paroxysm.  He  would  jump  at 
the  unexpected  sound,  then  burst  into  furious  tears. 
When  she  tried  to  draw  his  head  down  upon  her  scratchy 
black  alpaca  breast,  he  would  say  violently,  "No,  no! 
No,  no!"  at  which  she  would  push  him  roughly  from  her 
knee,  and  fall  into  hurt  silence.  Once,  when  he  was  five 
years  old,  she  came  in  to  dinner  hot  from  a  morning  in 
the  Works,  her  moist  forehead  grimy  with  dust,  and  bent 
over  to  kiss  him ;  at  which  the  little  boy  wrinkled  up  his 
nose  and  turned  his  face  aside. 

"What's  the  matter?"  his  mother  said;  and  called 
sharply  to  the  nurse:  "I  won't  have  any  highfalutin' 
business  in  this  boy!  Get  it  out  of  him."  Then  reso 
lutely  she  took  Blair's  little  chin  in  her  hand — a  big, 
beautiful,  powerful  hand,  with  broken  and  blackened 
nails — and  turning  his  wincing  face  up,  rubbed  her  cheek 
roughly  against  his.  "Get  over  your  airs!"  she  said, 
and  sat  down  and  ate  her  dinner  without  another  word 
to  Blair  or  any  -one  else.  But  the  next  day,  as  if  to  pur 
chase  the  kiss  he  would  not  give,  she  told  him  he  was  to 
have  an  "allowance."  The  word  had  no  meaning  to  the 
little  fellow,  until  she  showed  him  two  bright  new  dollars 
and  said  he  could  buy  candy  with  them ;  then  his  brown 
eyes  smiled,  and  he  held  up  his  lips  to  her.  It  was  at 
that  moment  that  money  began  to  mean  something  to 
him.  He  bought  the  candy,  which  he  divided  with 
Nannie,  and  he  bought  also  a  present  for  his  mother, — a 
bottle  of  cologne,  with  a  tiny  calendar  tied  around  its 
neck  by  a  red  ribbon.  "The  ribbon  is  pretty,"  he  ex 
plained  shyly.  She  was  so  pleased  that  she  instantly 
gave  him  another  dollar,  and  then  put  the  long  green 
bottle  on  her  painted  pine  bureau,  between  two  of  his 
photographs. 

10 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

In  the  days  when  the  four  children  played  in  the 
orchard,  and  had  lessons  with  Miss  White,  in  the 
school  -  room  in  Mr.  Ferguson's  garret,  and  were 
"treated"  by  Blair  to  candy  or  pink  ice-cream — 
even  in  those  days  Mercer  was  showing  signs  of  what  it 
was  ultimately  to  become:  the  apotheosis  of  materialism 
and  vulgarity.  Iron  was  entering  into  its  soul.  It 
thought  extremely  well  of  itself;  when  a  new  mill  was 
built,  or  a  new  furnace  blown  in,  it  thought  still  better  of 
itself.  It  prided  itself  upon  its  growth ;  in  fact,  its  com 
placency,  its  ugliness  and  its  size  kept  pace  with  one  an 
other. 

"  Look  at  our  output,"  Sarah  Maitland  used  to  brag  to 
her  general  manager,  Mr.  Robert  Ferguson ;  "and  look  at 
our  churches !  We  have  more  churches  for  our  size  than 
any  town  west  of  the  Alleghanies." 

"We  need  more  jails  than  any  town,  east  or  west," 
Mr.  Ferguson  retorted,  grimly. 

Mrs.  Maitland  avoided  the  deduction.  Her  face  was 
full  of  pride.  "You  just  wait!  \Ve'll  be  the  most  im 
portant  city  in  this  country  yet,  because  we  will  hold 
the  commerce  of  the  world  right  here  in  our  mills!"  She 
put  out  her  great  open  palm,  and  slowly  closed  the 
strong,  beautiful  fingers  into  a  gripping  fist.  "The 
commerce  of  the  world,  right  here!11  she  said,  thrusting 
the  clenched  hand,  that  quivered  a  little,  almost  into  his 
face. 

Robert  Ferguson  snorted:  He  was  a  melancholy  man, 
with  thin,  bitterly  sensitive  lips,  and  kind  eyes  that  were 
curiously  magnified  by  gold-rimmed  eyeglasses,  which  he 
had  a  way  of  knocking  off  with  disconcerting  sudden 
ness.  He  did  not,  he  declared,  trust  anybody.  "What's 
the  use?"  he  said;  "you  only  get  your  face  slapped!" 
For  his  part,  he  believed  the  Eleventh  Commandment 
was,  "Blessed  is  he  that  expecteth  nothing,  because 
he'll  get  it." 

"Read  your  Bible!"  Mrs.  Maitland  retorted;  "then 

ii 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

you'll  know  enough  to  call  it  a  Beatitude,  not  a  Com 
mandment." 

Mr.  Ferguson  snorted  again.  "  Bible  ?  It's  all  I  can  do 
to  get  time  to  read  my  paper.  I'm  worked  to  death," 
he  reproached  her.  But  in  spite  of  being  worked  to 
death  he  always  found  time  on  summer  evenings  to 
weed  the  garden  in  his  back  yard,  or  on  winter  morn 
ings  to  feed  a  flock  of  Mercer's  sooty  pigeons;  and  he 
had  been  known  to  walk  all  over  town  to  find  a  par 
ticular  remedy  for  a  sick  child  of  one  of  his  molders. 
To  be  sure  he  alleged,  when  Mrs.  Maitland  accused  him 
of  kindness,  that,  as  far  as  the  child  was  concerned,  he 
was  a  fool  for  his  pains,  because  human  critters  ("I'm 
one  of  'em  myself,")  were  a  bad  lot  and  it  would  be  a  good 
thing  if  they  all  died  young! 

"Oh,  you  have  a  fine  bark,  friend  Ferguson,"  she  said, 
"but  when  it  comes  to  a  bite,  I  guess  most  folks  get  a 
kiss  from  you." 

"Kiss?"  said  Robert  Ferguson,  horrified;  "not  much!" 

They  were  very  good  friends,  these  two,  each  growling 
at,  disapproving  of,  and  completely  trusting  the  other. 
Mrs.  Maitland 's  chief  disapproval  of  her  superintendent — 
for  her  reproaches  about  his  bark  were  really  expressions 
of  admiration — her  serious  disapproval  was  based  on  the 
fact  that,  when  the  season  permitted,  he  broke  the 
Sabbath  by  grubbing  in  his  garden,  instead  of  going 
to  church.  A  grape-arbor  ran  the  length  of  this  garden, 
and  in  August  the  Isabellas,  filmed  with  soot,  had  a 
flavor,  Robert  Ferguson  thought,  finer  than  could  be 
found  in  any  of  the  vineyards  lying  in  the  hot  sunshine 
on  the  banks  of  the  river,  far  out  of  reach  of  Mercer's 
smoke.  There  was  a  flagstone  path  around  the  arbor, 
and  then  borders  of  perennials  against  brick  walls  thick 
with  ivy  or  hidden  by  trellised  peach-trees.  All  summer 
long  bees  came  to  murmur  among  the  flowers,  and  every 
breeze  that  blew  over  them  carried  some  sweetness  to  the 
hot  and  tired  .streets  outside.  It  was  a  spot  of  perfume 

12 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

and  peace,  and  it  was  no  wonder  that  the  hard-working, 
sad-eyed  man  liked  to  spend  his  Sundays  in  it.  But 
"remembering  the  Sabbath"  was  his  employer's  strong 
point.  Mrs.  Maitland  kept  the  Fourth  Commandment 
with  passion.  Her  Sundays,  dividing  each  six  days  of 
extraordinary  activity,  were  arid  stretches  of  the  un 
speakable  dullness  of  idleness.  When  Blair  grew  up  he 
used  to  look  back  at  those  Sundays  and  shudder.  There 
was  church  and  Sunday-school  in  the  morning,  then  a 
cold  dinner,  for  cold  roast  beef  was  Mrs.  Maitland's 
symbol  of  Sabbatical  holiness.  Then  an  endless,  vacant 
afternoon,  spent  always  indoors.  Certain  small,  pious 
books  were  permitted  the  two  children — Little  Henry  and 
His  Bearer,  The  Ministering  Children,  and  like  moral 
food;  but  no  games,  no  walks,  no  playing  in  the  orchard. 
Silence  and  weary  idleness  and  Little  Henry's  holy 
arrogances.  Though  the  day  must  have  been  as  dreary 
to  Mrs.  Maitland  as  it  was  to  her  son  and  daughter,  she 
never  winced.  She  sat  in  the  parlor,  dressed  in  black 
silk,  and  read  Tlw  Presbyterian'  and  the  Bible.  She 
never  allowed  herself  to  look  at  her  desk  in  the  dining- 
room,  or  even  at  her  knitting,  which  on  week-days  when 
she  had  no  work  to  do  was  a  great  resource;  she  looked 
at  the  clock  a  good  deal,  and  sometimes  she  sighed,  then 
applied  herself  to  The  Presbyterian.  She  went  to  bed  at 
half-past  seven  as  against  eleven  or  twelve  on  other  nights, 
first  reading,  with  extraordinary  rapidity,  her  "Chapter." 
Mrs.  Maitland  had  a  "system"  by  which  she  was  able  to 
read  the  Bible  through  once  a  year.  She  frequently 
recommended  it  to  her  superintendent;  to  her  way  of 
thinking  such  reading  was  accounted  to  her  as  righteous 
ness. 

Refreshed  by  a  somnolent  Sunday,  she  would  rush 
furiously  into  business  on  Monday  morning,  and  Mr. 
Robert  Ferguson,  who  never  went  to  church,  followed 
in  her  wake,  doing  her  bidding  with  grim  and  admiring 
thoroughness.  If  not  "  worked  to  death,"  he  was,  at  any 

13 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

rate,  absorbed  in  her  affairs.  Even  when  he  went  home 
at  night,  and,  on  summer  evenings,  fell  to  grubbing  in  his 
narrow  back  yard,  where  his  niece  "helped"  him  by 
pushing  a  little  wheelbarrow  over  the  mossy  flagstones, — 
even  then  he  did  not  dismiss  Mrs.  Maitland's  business 
from  his  mind.  He  was  scrupulous  to  say,  as  he  picked 
up  the  weeds  scattered  from  the  wheelbarrow,  "Have 
you  been  a  good  little  girl  to-day,  Elizabeth  ?"  but  all  the 
while,  in  his  own  thoughts  he  was  going  over  matters  at 
the  Works.  On  Sundays  he  managed  to  get  far  enough 
away  from  business  to  interrogate  Miss  White  about  his 
niece : 

"  I  hope  Elizabeth  is  behaving  herself,  Miss  White  ?" 

"Oh  yes;  she  is  a  dear,  good  child." 

"Well,  you  never  can  tell  about  children, — or  anybody 
else.  Keep  a  sharp  eye  on  her,  Miss  White.  And  be 
careful,  please,  about  vanity.  I  thought  I  saw  her  look 
ing  in  the  mirror  in  the  hall  this  morning.  Please  dis 
courage  any  signs  of  vanity." 

"She  hasn't  a  particle  of  vanity!"  Miss  White  said 
warmly. 

But  in  spite  of  such  assurances,  Mr.  Ferguson  was 
always  falling  into  bleakly  apprehensive  thoughts  of  his 
little  girl,  obstinately  denying  his  pride  in  her,  and  allow 
ing  himself  only  the  meager  hope  that  she  would  "turn 
out  fairly  decently."  Vanity  was  his  especial  concern, 
and  he  was  more  than  once  afraid  he  had  discovered  it : 
Elizabeth  was  not  allowed  to  go  to  dancing-school — 
dancing  and  vanity  were  somehow  related  in  her  uncle's 
mind;  so  the  vital,  vivid  little  creature  expressed  the 
rhythm  that  was  in  her  by  dancing  without  instruction, 
keeping  time  with  loud,  elemental  cadences  of  her  own 
composing,  not  always  melodious,  but  always  in  time. 
Sometimes  she  danced  thus  in  the  school-room;  some 
times  in  Mrs.  Todd's  "ice-cream  parlor"  at  the  farther 
end  of  Mercer's  old  wooden  bridge;  once — and  this  was 
one  of  the  occasions  when  Mr.  Ferguson  thought  he  had 

14 


THE     IRON     WOMAN 

detected  the  vice  he  dreaded — once  she  danced  in  his 
very  own  library!  Up  and  down  she  went,  back  and 
forth,  before  a  long  mirror  that  stood  between  the  win 
dows.  She  had  put  a  daffodowndilly  behind  each  ear, 
and  twisted  a  dandelion  chain  around  her  neck.  She 
looked,  as  she  came  and  went,  smiling  and  dimpling  at 
herself  in  the  shadowy  depths  of  the  mirror,  like  a  flower 
— a  flower  in  the  wind ! — bending  and  turning  and  sway 
ing,  and  singing  as  she  danced:  "Oh,  isn't  it  joyful- 
joyful — joyful!" 

It  was  then  that  her  uncle  came  upon  her;  for  just  a 
moment  he  stood  still  in  involuntary  delight,  then  remem 
bered  his  theories;  there  was  certainly  vanity  in  her  prim 
itive  adornment !  He  knocked  his  glasses  off  with  a  fierce 
gesture,  and  did  his  duty  by  barking  at  her, — as  Mrs. 
Maitland  would  have  expressed  it.  He  told  her  in  an 
angry  voice  that  she  must  go  to  bed  for  the  rest  of  the 
day!  at  least,  if  she  ever  did  it  again,  she  must  go  to  bed 
for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

Another  time  he  felt  even  surer  of  the  feminine  failing : 
Elizabeth  said,  in  his  presence,  that  she  wished  she  had 
some  rings  like  those  of  a  certain  Mrs.  Richie,  who  had 
lately  come  to  live  next  door;  at  which  Mr.  Ferguson 
barked  at  Miss  White,  barked  so  harshly  that  Elizabeth 
flew  at  him  like  a  little  enraged  cat.  "Stop  scolding 
Cherry-pie!  You  hurt  her  feelings;  you  are  a  wicked 
man!"  she  screamed,  and  beating  him  with  her  right 
hand,  she  fastened  her  small,  sharp  teeth  into  her  left 
arm  just  above  the  wrist — then  screamed  again  with  self- 
inflicted  pain.  But  when  Miss  White,  dismayed  at  such 
a  loss  of  self-control,  apologized  for  her,  Mr.  Ferguson 
shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  don't  mind  temper,"  he  said;  "I  used  to  have  a 
temper  myself;  but  I  will  not  have  her  vain!  Better  put 
some  plaster  on  her  arm.  Elizabeth,  you  must  not  call 
Miss  White  by  that  ridiculous  name." 

The  remark  about  Mrs.  Richie's  rings  really  disturbed 
2  15 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

him ;  it  made  him  deplore  to  himself  the  advent  as  a  neigh 
bor  of  a  foolish  woman.  "She'll  put  ideas  into  Eliza 
beth's  head,"  he  told  himself.  In  regard  to  the  rings,  he 
had  not  needed  Elizabeth  to  instruct  him.  He  had 
noticed  them  himself,  and  they  had  convinced  him  that 
this  Mrs.  Richie,  who  at  first  sight  seemed  a  shy,  sad 
woman  with  no  nonsense  about  her,  was  really  no  excep 
tion  to  her  sex.  "Vain  and  lazy,  like  the  rest  of  them," 
he  said  cynically.  Having  passed  the  age  when  he 
cared  to  sport  with  Amaryllis,  he  did  not,  he  said,  like 
women.  When  he  was  quite  a  young  man,  he  had 
added,  "except  Mrs.  Maitland."  Which  remark,  being 
repeated  to  Molly  Wharton,  had  moved  that  young  lady 
to  retort  that  the  reason  that  Sarah  Maitland  was  the 
only  woman  he  liked,  was  that  Sarah  Maitland  was  not  a 
woman!  "The  only  feminine  thing  about  her  is  her 
petticoats,"  said  Miss  Wharton,  daintily.  For  which 
mot,  Robert  Ferguson  never  forgave  her.  He  certainly 
did  not  expect  to  like  this  new-comer  in  Mercer,  this  Mrs. 
Richie,  but  he  had  gone  to  see  her.  He  had  been  obliged 
to,  because  she  wished  to  rent  a  house  he  owned  next 
door  to  the  one  in  which  he  lived.  So,  being  her  landlord, 
he  had  to  see  her,  if  for  nothing  else,  to  discourage  re 
quests  for  inside  repairs.  He  saw  her,  and  promised  to 
put  up  a  little  glass  house  at  the  end  of  the  back  parlor 
for  a  plant-room.  "If  she'd  asked  me  for  a  'conserva 
tory,'"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  wouldn't  have  considered 
it  for  a  moment;  but  just  a  few  sashes — I  suppose  I 
might  as  well  give  in  on  that?  Besides,  if  she  likes 
flowers,  there  must  be  something  to  her."  All  the 
same,  he  was  conscious  of  having  given  in,  and  to  a 
woman  who  wore  rings;  so  he  was  quite  gruff  with  Mrs. 
Richie's  little  boy,  whom  he  found  listening  to  an  ha 
rangue  from  Elizabeth.  The  two  children  had  scraped 
acquaintance  through  the  iron  fence  that  separated  the 
piazzas  of  the  two  houses.  "I,"  Elizabeth  had  an 
nounced,  "have  a  mosquito-bite  on  my  leg;  I'll  show  it 

16 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  you,"  she  said,  generously;  and  when  the  bite  on  her 
little  thigh  was  displayed,  she  tried  to  think  of  other 
personal  matters.  "  My  mother's  dead.  And  my  father's 
dead." 

"  So's  mine,"  David  matched  her,  proudly.  "  I'm  an 
adopted  child." 

"I  have  a  pair  of  red  shoes  with  white  buttons,"  she 
said.  David,  unable  to  think  of  any  possession  of  his 
own  to  cap  either  bite  or  boots,  was  smitten  into  gloomy 
silence. 

In  spite  of  the  landlord's  disapproval  of  his  tenant's 
rings,  the  acquaintance  of  the  two  families  grew.  Mr. 
Ferguson  had  to  see  Mrs.  Richie  again  about  those 
"sashes,"  or  what  not.  His  calls  were  always  on  busi 
ness —  but  though  he  talked  of  greenhouses,  and  she 
talked  of  knocking  out  an  extra  window  in  the  nursery 
so  that  her  little  boy  could  have  more  sunshine,  they 
slipped  after  a  while  into  personalities :  Mrs.  Richie  had 
no  immediate  family ;  her — her  husband  had  died  nearly 
three  years  before.  Since  then  she  had  been  living  in 
St.  Louis.  She  had  come  now  to  Mercer  because  she 
wanted  to  be  nearer  to  a  friend,  an  old  clergyman,  who 
lived  in  a  place  called  Old  Chester. 

"I  think  it's  about  twenty  miles  up  the  river,"  she 
said.  "That's  where  I  found  David.  I — I  had  lost  a 
little  boy,  and  David  had  lost  his  mother,  so  we  belonged 
together.  It  doesn't  make  any  difference  to  us,  that  he 
isn't  my  own,  does  it,  David?" 

"Yes'm,"  said  David. 

"  David !  Why  won't  you  ever  say  what  is  expected  of 
you  ?  We  don't  know  anybody  in  Mercer,"  she  went  on, 
with  a  shy,  melancholy  smile,  "except  Elizabeth."  And 
at  her  kind  look  the  little  girl,  who  had  tagged  along 
behind  her  uncle,  snuggled  up  to  the  maternal  presence, 
and  rubbed  her  cheek  against  the  white  hand  which  had 
the  pretty  rings  on  it.  "I  am  so  glad  to  have  somebody 
for  David  to  play  with,"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  looking  down 

17 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

at  the  little  nestling  thing,  who  at  that  moment  stopped 
nestling,  and  dropping  down  on  toes  and  finger-tips, 
loped  up  —  on  very  long  hind  -  legs,  to  the  confusion 
of  her  elders,  who  endeavored  not  to  see  her  peculiar 
attitude  —  and,  putting  a  paw  into  David's  pocket, 
abstracted  a  marble.  There  was  an  instant  explo 
sion,  in  which  David,  after  securing  his  property 
through  violent  exertions,  sought,  as  a  matter  of  pure 
justice,  to  pull  the  bear's  hair.  But  when  Mrs.  Richie 
interfered,  separating  the  combatants  with  horrified 
apologies  for  her  young  man's  conduct,  Elizabeth's 
squeals  stopped  abruptly.  She  stood  panting,  her  eyes 
still  watering  with  David's  tug  at  her  hair;  the  dimple  in 
her  right  cheek  began  to  lengthen  into  a  hard  line. 

"You  are  very  naughty,  David,"  said  Mrs.  Richie, 
sternly;  "you  must  beg  Elizabeth's  pardon  at  once!" 
At  which  Elizabeth  burst  out : 

"Stop!  Don't  scold  him.  It  was  my  fault.  I  did  it 
— taking  his  marble.  I'll — I'll  bite  my  arm  if  you  scold 
David!" 

"Elizabeth!"  protested  her  uncle;  "I'm  ashamed  of 
you!" 

But  Elizabeth  was  indifferent  to  his  shame;  she  was 
hugging  David  frantically.  "I  hate,  I  hate,  I  hate  your 
mother — if  she  does  have  rings!"  Her  face  was  so  con 
vulsed  with  rage  that  Mrs.  Richie  actually  recoiled  before 
it;  Elizabeth,  still  clamoring,  saw  that  involuntary  start 
of  horror.  Instantly  she  was  calm;  but  she  shrank  away 
almost  out  of  the  room.  It  seemed  as  if  at  that  moment 
some  veil,  cold  and  impenetrable,  fell  between  the  gentle 
woman  and  the  fierce,  pathetic  child — a  veil  that'  was  not 
to  be  lifted  until,  in  some  mysterious  way,  life  should 
make  them  change  places. 

The  two  elders  looked  at  each  other,  Robert  Ferguson 
with  meager  amusement;  Mrs.  Richie  still  grave  at  the 
remembrance  of  that  furious  little  face.  "What  did  she 
mean  about '  biting  her  arm'  ?"  she  asked,  after  Elizabeth 

18 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

had  been  sent  home,  the  bewildered  David  being  told  to 
accompany  her  to  the  door. 

"I  believe  she  bites  herself  when  she  gets  angry," 
Elizabeth's  uncle  said;  "Miss  White  said  she  had  quite 
a  sore  place  on  her  arm  last  winter,  because  she  bit  it  so 
often.  It's  of  no  consequence,"  he  added,  knocking  his 
glasses  off  fiercely.  Again  Mrs.  Richie  looked  shocked. 
"She  is  my  brother's  child,"  he  said,  briefly;  "he  died 
some  years  ago.  He  left  her  to  me."  And  Mrs.  Richie 
knew  instinctively  that  the  bequest  had  not  been  wel 
come.  "Miss  White  looks  after  her,"  he  said,  putting  his 
glasses  on  again,  carefully,  with  both  hands;  "she  calls 
her  her  'Lamb,'  though  a  more  unlamblike  person  than 
Elizabeth  I  never  met.  She  has  a  little  school  for  her  and 
the  two  Maitland  youngsters  in  the  top  of  my  house.  Miss 
White  is  otherwise  known  as  Cherry-pie.  Elizabeth,  I 
am  informed,  loves  cherry-pie ;  also,  she  loves  Miss  White : 
ergo!"  he  ended,  with  his  snort  of  a  laugh.  Then  he  had 
a  sudden  thought:  "Why  don't  you  let  David  come  to 
Miss  White  for  lessons?  I've  no  doubt  she  could  look 
after  another  pupil." 

"  I'd  be  delighted  to,"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  gratefully.  So, 
through  the  good  offices  of  Mr.  Ferguson,  the  arrange 
ment  was  made.  Mr.  Ferguson  did  not  approve  of  Mrs. 
Richie's  rings,  but  he  had  no  objection  to  helping  her 
about  David. 

And  that  was  how  it  happened  that  these  four  little 
lives  were  thrown  together — four  threads  that  were  to  be 
woven  into  the  great  fabric  of  Life. 


CHAPTER  II 

ON  the  other  side  of  the  street,  opposite  the  Maitland 
house,  was  a  huddle  of  wooden  tenements.  Some  of 
them  were  built  on  piles,  and  seemed  to  stand  on  stilts, 
holding  their  draggled  skirts  out  of  the  mud  of  their 
untidy  yards:  some  sagged  on  rotting  sills,  leaning 
shoulder  to  shoulder  as  if  to  prop  one  another  up.  From 
each  front  door  a  shaky  flight  of  steps  ran  down  to  the 
unpaved  sidewalk,  where  pigs  and  children  and  hens,  and 
the  daily  tramp  of  feet  to  and  from  the  Maitland  Works, 
had  beaten  the  earth  into  a  hard,  black  surface — or  a 
soft,  black  surface,  when  it  rained.  These  little  huddling 
houses  called  themselves  Maitland's  Shantytown,  and 
they  looked  up  at  the  Big  House,  standing  in  melancholy 
isolation  behind  its  fence  of  iron  spears,  with  the  pride 
that  is  common  to  us  all  when  we  find  ourselves  in  the 
company  of  our  betters.  Back  of  the  little  houses  was  a 
strip  of  waste  land,  used  for  a  dump;  and  beyond  it, 
bristling  against  the  sky,  the  long  line  of  Mercer's  stacks 
and  chimneys. 

In  spite  of  such  surroundings,  the  Big  House,  even  as 
late  as  the  early  seventies,  was  impressive.  It  was 
square,  with  four  great  chimneys,  and  long  windows 
that  ran  from  floor  to  ceiling.  Its  stately  entrance  and 
its  two  curving  flights  of  steps  were  of  white  marble, 
and  so  were  the  lintels  of  the  windows ;  but  the  stone 
was  so  stained  and  darkened  with  smoky  years  of 
rains  and  river  fogs,  that  its  only  beauty  lay  in  the  noble 
lines  that  grime  and  time  had  not  been  able  to  destroy. 
A  gnarled  and  twisted  old  wistaria  roped  the  doorway, 

20 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

and,  crawling  almost  to  the  roof,  looped  along  the  eaves; 
in  May  it  broke  into  a  froth  of  exquisite  purple  and  faint 
green,  and  for  a  week  the  garland  of  blossoms,  murmur 
ous  with  bees,  lay  clean  and  lovely  against  the  narrow, 
old  bricks  which  had  once  been  painted  yellow.  Outside, 
the  house  had  a  distinction  which  no  superficial  dilapi 
dation  could  mar;  but  inside  distinction  was  almost 
lost  in  the  commonplace,  if  not  in  actual  ugliness.  The 
double  parlors  on  the  right  of  the  wide  hall  had  been 
furnished  in  the  complete  vulgarity  of  the  sixties;  on  the 
left  was  the  library,  which  had  long  ago  been  taken  by 
Mrs.  Maitland  as  a  bedroom,  for  the  practical  reason  that 
it  opened  into  the  dining-room,  so  her  desk  was  easily 
accessible  at  any  time  of  night,  should  her  passion  for  toil 
seize  her  after  working-hours  were  over.  The  walls  of 
this  room  were  still  covered  with  books,  that  no  one 
ever  read.  Mrs.  Maitland  had  no  time  to  waste  on 
reading;  "I  live"  she  used  to  say;  "I  don't  read 
about  living!"  Except  the  imprisoned  books,  the 
only  interesting  things  in  the  room  were  some  cartes- 
de-visite  of  Blair,  which  stood  in  a  dusty  row  on  the 
bureau,  one  of  them  propped  against  her  son's  first  pres 
ent  to  her — the  unopened  bottle  of  Johann  Maria  Fa 
rina.  When  Blair  was  a  man,  that  bottle  still  stood  there, 
the  kid  cap  over  the  cork  split  and  yellow,  the  ribbons  of 
the  little  calendar  hanging  from  its  green  neck,  faded  to 
streaky  white. 

The  office  dining-room,  about  which  Blair  had  begun 
to  be  impertinent  when  he  was  eight  years  old,  was  of 
noble  proportions  and  in  its  day  must  have  had  great 
dignity;  but  in  Blair's  childhood  its  day  was  over. 
Above  the  dingy  white  wainscoting  the  landscape  paper 
his  grandfather  had  brought  from  France  in  the  thirties 
had  faded  into  a  blur  of  blues  and  buffs.  The  floor  was 
uncarpeted  save  for  a  Persian  rug,  whose  colors  had  long 
since  dulled  to  an  even  grime.  At  one  end  of  the 
room  was  Mrs.  Maitland's  desk;  at  the  other,  filing- 

21 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

cases,  and  two  smaller  desks  where  clerks  worked  at 
ledgers  or  drafting.  The  four  French  windows  were 
uncurtained,  and  the  inside  shutters  folded  back,  so  that 
the  silent  clerks  might  have  the  benefit  of  every  ray  of 
daylight  filtering  wanly  through  Mercer's  murky  air. 
A  long  table  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room ;  generally 
it  was  covered  with  blue-prints,  or  the  usual  impedimenta 
of  an  office.  But  it  was  not  an  office  table;  it  was  of 
mahogany,  scratched  and  dim  to  be  sure,  but  matching 
the  ancient  claw-footed  sideboard  whose  top  was  littered 
with  letter  files,  silver  teapots  and  sugar-bowls,  and 
stacks  of  newspapers.  Three  times  a  day  one  end  of 
this  table  was  cleared,  and  the  early  breakfast,  or  the 
noon  dinner,  or  the  rather  heavy  supper  eaten  rapidly 
and  for  the  most  part  in  silence.  Mrs.  Maitland  was 
silent  because  she  was  absorbed  in  thought ;  Nannie  and 
Blair  were  silent  because  they  were  afraid  to  talk.  But 
the  two  children  gave  a  touch  of  humanness  to  the 
ruthless  room,  which,  indeed,  poor  little  Blair  had  some 
excuse  for  calling  a  "pigsty." 

"When  I'm  big,"  Blair  announced  one  afternoon  after 
school,  "I'll  have  a  bunch  of  flowers  on  the  table,  like 
your  mother  does ;  you  see  if  I  don't !  I  like  your  mother, 
David." 

"/  don't;  very  much,"  Elizabeth  volunteered.  "She 
looks  out  of  her  eyes  at  me  when  I  get  mad." 

"I  don't  like  to  live  at  my  house,"  Blair  said,  sigh 
ing. 

"Why  don't  you  run  away?"  demanded  Elizabeth; 
"  I'm  going  to  some  day  when  I  get  time." 

"Where  would  you  run  to?"  David  said,  practically. 
David  was  always  disconcertingly  practical. 

But  Elizabeth  would  not  be  pinned  down  to  details. 
"  I  will  decide  that  when  I  get  started." 

"  I  believe,"  Blair  meditated,  "  I  will  run  away." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  let's  do,"  Elizabeth  said,  and  paused 
to  pick  up  her  right  ankle  and  hop  an  ecstatic  yard  or  two 

22 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

on  one  foot;  "  I  tell  you  what  let's  do :  let's  all  run  away, 
and  get  married!" 

The  other  three  stared  at  her  dumfounded.  Elizabeth, 
whirling  about  on  her  toes,  dropped  down  on  all-fours  to 
turn  a  somersault  of  joy;  when  she  was  on  her  feet  she 
said,  "Oh,  let's  get  married!"  But  it  took  Blair,  who 
always  found  it  difficult  to  make  up  his  mind,  a  few 
moments  to  accept  the  project. 

They  had  planned  to  devote  that  afternoon  to  playing 
bury-you-alive  under  the  yellow  sofa  in  Mrs.  Richie's 
parlor,  but  this  idea  of  Elizabeth's  made  it  necessary  to, 
hide  in  the  "cave" — a  shadowy  spot  behind  the  palm- 
tub  in  the  greenhouse  —  for  reflection.  Once  settled 
there,  jostling  one  another  like  young  pigeons,  it  was 
David  who,  as  usual,  made  the  practical  objections: 

"  We  haven't  any  money." 

*'  I  suppose  we  could  get  all  the  money  we  want  out  of 
my  mother's  cash-box,"  Blair  admitted,  wavering. 

"That's  stealing,"  Elizabeth  said. 

"You  can't  steal  from  your  mother,"  Nannie  defended 
her  brother. 

"I'll  marry  you,  Elizabeth,"  Blair  said,  with  sudden 
enthusiastic  decision. 

But  David  demurred :  "  I  think  I'd  like  Elizabeth.  I'm 
not  sure  I  want  to  marry  Nannie." 

"  You  said  Nannie's  hair  was  the  longest,  only  yester 
day!"  Blair  said,  angrily. 

"  But  I  like  Elizabeth's  color  of  hair.  Nannie,  do  you 
think  I'd  like  you  to  marry  best,  or  Elizabeth  ?" 

"  I  don't  believe  the  color  of  hair  makes  any  difference 
in  being  married,"  Nannie  said,  kindly.  "And  anyway, 
you'll  have  to  marry  me,  David,  'cause  Blair  can't.  He's 
my  brother." 

"He's  only  your  half-brother,"  David  pointed  out. 

"You  can  have  Nannie,"  said  Blair,  "or  you  can  stay 
out  of  the  play." 

"Well,  I'll  marry  Nannie,"  David  said,  sadly;   and 

23 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Blair  proceeded  to  elaborate  the  scheme.  It  was  very 
simple:  the  money  in  Mrs.  Maitland's  cash-box  would 
pay  their  fare  to — "Oh,  anywhere,"  Blair  said,  then 
hesitated :  "The  only  thing  is,  how'll  we  get  it  ?" 

"  I'll  get  it  for  you,"  Nannie  said,  shuddering. 

"Wouldn't  you  be  scared?"  Blair  asked  doubtfully. 
Everybody  knew  poor  Nannie  was  a  'f raid-cat. 

"Little  people,"  somebody  called  from  the  parlor, 
"what  are  you  chattering  about?" 

The  children  looked  at  one  another  in  a  panic,  but  Blair 
called  back  courageously,  "  Oh,  nothing.  " 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mrs.  Richie,  smiling  at  Mr.  Robert 
Ferguson,  who  had  dropped  in  to  find  Elizabeth — "per 
haps  you  didn't  know  that  my  conservatory  was  a 
Pirates'  Cave?" 

There  was  a  sort  of  hesitant  intimacy  now  between 
these  two  people,  but  it  had  never  got  so  far  as  friend 
ship.  Mrs.  Richie's  retreating  shyness  was  courteous, 
but  never  cordial;  Robert  Ferguson's  somber  egotism 
was  kind,  but  never  generous.  Yet,  owing  no  doubt  to 
their  two  children,  and  to  the  fact  that  Mr.  Ferguson  was 
continually  bringing  things  over  from  his  garden  borders, 
to  transplant  into  hers — it  improves  the  property,  he 
told  her  briefly — owing  to  the  children  and  the  flowers, 
the  landlord  and  the  tenant  saw  each  other  rather  fre 
quently.  On  this  especial  afternoon,  though  Mr.  Fergu 
son  had  found  Elizabeth,  he  still  lingejed,  perhaps  to  tell 
the  story  of  some  extraordinary  thing  Mrs.  Maitland  had 
done  that  day  at  the  Works.  "She's  been  the  only  man 
in  the  family  since  old  John  died,"  he  ended;  "and, 
judging  from  Blair,  I  guess  she'll  continue  to  be." 

"She  is  wonderful!"  Mrs.  Richie  agreed;  "but  she's 
lovable,  too,  which  is  more  important." 

"I  should  as  soon  say  a  locomotive  was  lovable,"  he 
said;  "not  that  that's  against  her.  Quite  the  contrary." 

The  pretty  woman  on  the  yellow  damask  sofa  by  the 
fireside  flushed  with  offense.  The  fact  was,  this  dry, 

24 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

dogmatic  man,  old  at  thirty-six,  lean,  and  in  a  time 
of  beards  clean-shaven,  with  gray  hair  that  stood  fiercely 
up  from  a  deeply  furrowed  brow,  and  kind,  unhappy 
eyes  blinking  behind  the  magnifying  lenses  of  his  gold- 
rimmed  glasses,  this  really  friendly  neighbor,  was  always 
offending  her — though  he  was  rather  nice  about  inside 
repairs.  "Why  do  I  endure  him?"  Mrs.  Richie  said  to 
herself  sometimes.  Perhaps  it  was  because,  in  spite  of 
his  manners,  and  his  sneer  that  the  world  was  a  mighty 
mean  place  to  live  in,  and  his  joyless  way  of  doing  his 
duty  to  his  little  niece,  he  certainly  did  see  how  good  and 
sweet  her  David  was.  She  reminded  herself  of  this  to 
check  her  offense  at  his  snub  about  Mrs.  Maitland;  and 
all  the  while  the  good,  sweet  David  was  plotting  behind 
the  green  tub  of  the  palm-tree  in  the  conservatory.  But 
when  Mr.  Ferguson  called  to  Elizabeth  to  come  home 
with  him,  and  then  bent  over  and  fussed  about  the  but 
tons  on  her  jacket,  and  said,  anxiously,  "Are  you  warm 
enough,  Pussy?"  Mrs.  Richie  said  to  herself:  "He  is 
good!  It's  only  his  manners  that  are  bad." 

Robert  Ferguson  went  out  into  the  brown  November 
dusk  with  his  little  girl  clinging  to  his  hand,  for  so  he 
understood  his  duty  to  his  niece;  and  on  their  own  door 
step  Elizabeth  asked  a  question : 

"Uncle,  if  you  get  married,  do  you  have  to  stay  mar 
ried?" 

"He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  start.  "What?"  he 
said. 

"  If  you  don't  like  being  married,  do  you  have  to  stay  ?" 

"Don't  ask  foolish  questions!"  he  said;  "of  course  you 
have  to." 

Elizabeth  sighed.  As  for  her  uncle,  he  was  disturbed 
to  the  point  of  irritation.  He  dropped  her  hand  with  a 
gesture  almost  of  disgust,  and  the  lines  in  his  forehead 
deepened  into  painful  folds.  After  supper  he  called 
Elizabeth's  governess  into  the  library,  and  shut  the  door. 

"  Miss  White,"  he  said,  knocking  his  glasses  off,  "  Eliza- 

25 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

beth  is  getting  to  be  a  big  girl;  will  you  kindly  make  a 
point  of  teaching  her — things  ?" 

"  I  will  do  so  immejetly,  sir,"  said  Miss  White.  "What 
things?" 

"Why,"  said  Robert  Ferguson,  helplessly,  "why — 
general  morals."  He  put  his  glasses  on  carefully,  with 
both  hands.  "Elizabeth  asked  me  a  very  improper 
question;  she  asked  me  about  divorce,  and — " 

"  Divorce  /"  exclaimed  Miss  White,  astounded ;  "I  have 
been  at  my  post  for  eight  years,  sir,  and  I  am  positive  that 
that  word  has  never  been  used  in  Elizabeth's  presence!" 

He  did  not  explain.  "Teach  her,"  he  said,  harshly, 
"that  a  woman  has  got  to  behave  herself." 

Blair  having  once  decided  upon  it,  clung  to  his  pur 
pose  of  running  away,  with  a  persistency  which  was 
his  mother's  large  determination  in  little;  but  the 
double  elopement  was  delayed  for  two  days  because 
of  the  difficulty  of  securing  the  necessary  funds.  The 
dining-room,  where  Mrs.  Maitland  "kept  all  her  money," 
was  rarely  entirely  deserted.  In  those  brief  intervals 
when  the  two  clerks  were  not  on  hand,  Harris  seemed 
to  be  possessed  of  a  clean  devil,  and  spent  an  unusual 
amount  of  time  "redding  up";  or  when  Harris  was 
in  the  kitchen,  and  Blair,  dragging  the  reluctant  Nannie, 
had  peered  into  the  room,  he  had  been  confronted 
by  his  mother.  She  never  saw  him — sometimes  she 
was  writing;  sometimes  talking  to  a  foreman;  some 
times  knitting,  for  when  Sarah  Maitland  had  nothing 
else  to  do,  she  made  baby  socks  for  the  missionary 
barrel ;  once  when  Blair  came  to  the  door,  she  was  walk 
ing  up  and  down  knitting  rapidly,  thinking  out  some 
project ;  her  ball  of  zephyr  had  fallen  on  the  floor,  and 
dragging  along  behind  her,  unwinding  and  unwinding, 
had  involved  her  hurrying  tramp  in  a  grimy,  pink  tangle. 

Each  time  Blair  had  looked  into  the  room  it  was 
policed  by  this  absorbed  presence.  "  We'll  never  get  mar- 

26 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ried!"  he  said  in  despair.  The  delay  had  a  disastrous 
effect  upon  romance,  for  David,  with  the  melancholy 
candor  of  a  reasoning  temperament,  was  continually  say 
ing  that  he  doubted  the  desirability  of  Nannie  as  a  wife ; 
and  Elizabeth  was  just  as  hesitant  about  Blair. 

"Suppose  I  took  a  hate  to  you  for  a  husband?  Uncle 
Robert  says  if  you  don't  like  being  married,  you  can't 
stop." 

"You  won't  want  to  stop.  Married  people  don't 
have  to  go  to  school!" 

Elizabeth  sighed.  "  But  I  don't  know  but  what  may 
be  I'd  like  David  for  a  husband?" 

"He  doesn't  have  but  ten  cents  a  week  allowance,  and 
I  have  a  dollar,"  Blair  reminded  her. 

"Well,  I  don't  believe  I  like  being  married,  anyway," 
she  fretted;  "I  like  going  out  to  the  toll-house  for  ice 
cream  better." 

Her  uncertainty  made  Blair  still  more  impatient  to 
finance  his  journey;  and  that  day,  just  after  dinner,  he 
and  Nannie  stood  quaking  at  the  dining-room  door. 
"I-I-I'll  do  it,"  Blair  gasped,  with  trembling  valor.  He 
was  very  little,  and  his  eyes  were  dilating  with  fright. 
"I'll  do  it,"  he  said,  chattering.  Nannie  rushed  into 
the  breach ;  Nannie  never  pretended  to  be  anything  but 
a  'f raid-cat  except  in  things  that  concerned  Blair;  she 
said  now,  boldly: 

"  I'm  the  oldest,  so  I  ought  to." 

She  crept  across  the  floor,  stopping  at  every  step  to 
listen  breathlessly;  nothing  stirred,  except  her  own  little 
shadow  crouching  at  her  heels. 

"Grab  in  the  top  drawer,"  Blair  hissed  after  her;  and 
she  put  a  shrinking  hand  into  the  japanned  box,  and 
"grabbed"  all  the  bills  she  could  hold;  then,  not  waiting 
to  close  the  drawer,  she  fled  back  to  Blair.  Up-stairs  in 
her  room,  they  counted  the  money. 

"We  can  travel  all  round  the  world!"  Blair  whispered, 
thrilled  at  the  amount  of  their  loot. 

27 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

But  at  the  last  moment  there  was  a  defection — Eliza 
beth  backed  out.  "  I'd  rather  go  out  to  the  toll-house  for 
ice-cream,"  she  said;  " ice-cream  at  Mrs.  Todd's  is  nicer 
than  being  married,  David,  don't  you  go,  either.  Let 
Blair  and  Nannie  go.  You  stay  with  me." 

But  David  was  not  to  be  moved.  "I  like  traveling; 
I've  traveled  a  good  deal  all  my  life;  and  I  want  to  go 
round  the  world  with  Blair." 

Elizabeth  gave  him  a  black  look.  "You  like  Blair 
better  'an  me,"  she  said,  the  tears  hot  in  her  amber  eyes. 
A  minute  later  she  slipped  away  to  hide  under  the  bed  in 
her  own  room,  peering  out  from  under  a  lifted  valance  for 
a  hoped-for  pursuer.  But  no  one  came;  the  other  three 
were  so  excited  that  her  absence  was  hardly  noticed. 

How  they  started,  the  adventurous  ones,  late  that  after 
noon — later,  in  fact,  than  they  planned,  because  Blair  in 
sisted  upon  running  back  to  give  Harris  a  parting  gift  of  a 
dollar;  "  'Cause,  poor  Harris!  he  can't  go  traveling" — how 
they  waited  in  the  big,  barn-like,  foggy  station  for  what 
Blair  called  the  "next  train,"  how  they  boarded  it  for 
"any  place" — all  seemed  very  funny  when  they  were  old 
enough  to  look  back  upon  it.  It  even  seemed  funny,  a 
day  or  two  afterward,  to  their  alarmed  elders.  But  at 
the  time  it  was  not  amusing  to  anybody.  David  was 
gloomy  at  being  obliged  to  marry  Nannie;  "I  pretty 
near  wish  I'd  stayed  with  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  crossly. 
Nannie  was  frightened,  because,  she  declared,  "Mamma 
'11  be  mad; — now  I  tell  you,  Blair,  she'll  be  mad!"  And 
'Blair  was  sulky  because  he  had  no  wife.  Yet,  in  spite  of 
these  varying  emotions,  pushed  by  Blair's  resolution,  they 
really  did  venture  forth  to  "travel  all  around  the  world!" 

As  for  the  grown  people's  feelings  about  the  elopement, 
they  ran  the  gamut  from  panic  to  amusement.  ...  At  a 
little  after  five  o'clock,  Miss  White  heard  sobbing  in 
Elizabeth's  room,  and  going  in,  found  the  little  girl 
blacking  her  boots  and  crying  furiously. 

28 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Elizabeth!  my  lamb!     What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"  I  have  a  great  many  sorrows,"  said  Elizabeth,  with  a 
hiccup  of  despair. 

"But  what  are  you  doing?" 

"  I  am  blacking  my  red  shoes,"  Elizabeth  wailed;  and 
so  she  was,  the  blacking-sponge  on  its  shaky  wire  drip 
ping  all  over  the  carpet.  "My  beautiful  red  shoes;  I 
am  blacking  them;  and  now  they  are  spoiled  forever." 

"But  why  do  you  want  to  spoil  them?"  gasped  Miss 
White,  struggling  to  take  the  blacking-bottle  away  from 
her.  "Elizabeth,  tell  me  immejetly!  What  has  hap 
pened?" 

"I  didn't  go  on  the  journey,"  said  Elizabeth;  "and 
David  wouldn't  stay  at  home  with  me ;  he  liked  Blair  and 
Nannie  better  'an  me.  He  hurt  my  feelings;  so  pretty 
soon  right  away  I  got  mad — mad — mad — to  think  he 
wouldn't  stay  with  me.  I  always  get  mad  if  my  feelings 
are  hurt,  and  David  Richie  is  always  hurting  'em.  I 
despise  him  for  making  me  mad!  I  despise  him  for 
treating  me  so — hideous!  And  so  I  took  a  hate  to  my 
shoes."  The  ensuing  explanation  sent  Miss  White, 
breathless,  to  tell  Mrs.  Richie;  but  Mrs.  Richie  was  not 
at  home. 

When  David  did  not  appear  that  afternoon  after 
school,  Mrs.  Richie  was  disturbed.  By  three  o'clock  she 
was  uneasy;  but  it  was  nearly  five  before  the  quiver  of 
apprehension  grew  into  positive  fright;  then  she  put  on 
her  things  and  walked  down  to  the  Maitland  house. 

"Is  David  here?"  she  demanded  when  Harris  an 
swered  her  ring;  "please  go  up-stairs  and  look,  Harris; 
they  may  be  playing  in  the  nursery.  I  am  worried." 

Harris  shuffled  off,  and  Mrs.  Richie,  following  him  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  stood  there  gripping  the  newel-post. 

"They  ain't  here,"  Harris  announced  from  the  top 
landing. 

Mrs.  Richie  sank  down  on  the  lowest  step. 

"  Harris !"  some  one  called  peremptorily,  and  she  turned 

29 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  see  Robert  Ferguson  coming  out  of  the  dining-room: 
"Oh,  you're  here,  Mrs.  Richie?  I  suppose  you  are  on 
David's  track.  I  thought  Harris  might  have  some  clue. 
I  came  down  to  tell  Mrs.  Maitland  all  we  could  wring 
from  Elizabeth." 

Before  she  could  ask  what  he  meant,  Blair's  mother 
joined  them.  "  I  haven't  a  doubt  they  are  playing  in  the 
orchard,"  she  said. 

"No,  they're  not,"  her  superintendent  contradicted; 
"Elizabeth  says  they  were  going  to  'travel';  but  that's 
all  we  could  get  out  of  her." 

"'Travel'!  Oh,  what  does  she  mean?"  Mrs.  Richie 
said;  "I'm  so  frightened!" 

"What's  the  use  of  being  frightened?"  Mrs.  Maitland 
asked,  curiously;  "it  won't  bring  them  back  if  they  are 
lost,  will  it?" 

Robert  Ferguson  knocked  his  glasses  off  fiercely. 
"They  couldn't  be  lost  in  Mercer,"  he  reassured  David's 
mother. 

"Well,  whether  they've  run  away  or  not,  come  into 
my  room  and  talk  about  it  like  a  sensible  woman,"  said 
Mrs.  Maitland;  "what's  the  use  of  sitting  on  the  stairs? 
Women  have  such  a  way  of  sitting  on  stairs  when  things 
go  wrong!  Suppose  they  are  lost.  What  harm's  done? 
They'll  turn  up.  Come!"  Mrs.  Richie  came.  Every 
body  "came"  or  went,  or  stood  still,  when  Mrs.  Mait 
land  said  the  word!  And  though  not  commanded,  Mr. 
Ferguson  came  too. 

In  the  dining-room  Mrs.  Maitland  took  no  part  in  the 
perplexed  discussion  that  followed.  At  her  desk,  in  her 
revolving  chair,  she  had  instinctively  taken  up  her  pen; 
there  was  a  perceptible  instant  in  which  she  got  her  mind 
off  her  own  affairs  and  put  it  on  this  matter  of  the  chil 
dren.  Then  she  laid  the  pen  down,  and  turned  around 
to  face  the  other  two ;  but  idleness  irritated  her,  and  she 
reached  for  a  ball  of  pink  worsted  skewered  by  bone 
needles.  She  asked  no  questions  and  made  no  com- 

30 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ments,  but  knitting  rapidly,  listened,  until  apparently 
her  patience  came  to  an  end;  then  with  a  grunt  she 
whirled  round  to  her  desk  and  again  picked  up  her  pen. 
But  as  she  did  so  she  paused,  pen  in  air;  threw  it  down, 
and  pounding  the  flat  of  her  hand  on  her  desk,  laughed 
loudly : 

"I  know!  I  know!"  And  revolving  back  again  in 
leisurely  relief  to  face  them,  she  said,  with  open  amuse 
ment:  "When  I  came  home  this  afternoon,  I  found  this 
drawer  half  open  and  the  bills  in  my  cash-box  disturbed. 
They've" — her  voice  was  suddenly  drowned  in  the 
rumble  of  a  train  on  the  spur  track;  the  house  shook 
slightly,  and  a  gust  of  black  smoke  was  vomited  against 
the  windows; — "they've  helped  themselves  and  gone  off 
to  enjoy  it!  We'll  get  on  their  trail  at  the  railroad 
station.  That's  what  Elizabeth  meant  by  '  traveling.' " 

Mrs.  Richie  turned  terrified  eyes  toward  Mr.  Ferguson. 

"Why,  of  course!"  he  said,  "the  monkeys!" 

But  Mrs.  Richie  seemed  more  frightened  than  ever. 
"The  railroad!— Oh—" 

"Nonsense,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland;  "they're  all  right. 
The  ticket-agent  will  remember  them.  Mr.  Ferguson, 
telegraph  to  their  destination,  wherever  it  is,  and  have 
them  shipped  back.  No  police  help  at  this  end  yet,  if 
you  please." 

Robert  Ferguson  nodded.  "Of  course  everything  is 
all  right,"  he  said.  "I'll  let  you  know  the  minute  I  find 
traces  of  them,  Mrs.  Richie."  When  he  reached  the 
door,  he  came  back.  "Now  don't  you  worry;  I  could 
thrash  those  boys  for  bothering  you!"  At  which  she 
tried  to  smile,  but  there  was  a  quiver  in  her  chin. 

"Harris!"  Mrs.  Maitland  broke  in,  "supper!  Mrs- 
Richie,  you  are  going  to  have  something  to  eat." 

"Oh,  I  can't— " 

"What?  You  are  not  saying  can't?  'Can't' is  a 'bad 
word,'  you  know."  She  got  up — a  big,  heavy  woman,  in 
a  gray  bag  of  a  dress  that  only  reached  to  the  top  of  her 
3  3i 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

boots— and  stood  with  her  hands  on  her  hips;  her  gray 
hair  was  twisted  into  a  small,  tight  knot  at  the  back  of 
her  head,  and  her  face  looked  like  iron  that  had  once  been 
molten  and  had  cooled  into  roughened  immobility.  It 
was  not  an  unamiable  face;  as  she  stood  there  looking 
down  at  Mrs.  Richie  she  even  smiled  the  half -amused 
smile  one  might  bestow  on  a  puppy,  and  she  put  a  kindly 
hand  on  the  other  mother's  shoulder.  "Don't  be  so 
scared,  woman!  They'll  be  found." 

"You  don't  think  anything  could  have  happened  to 
him?"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  trembling;  "you  don't  think 
he  could  have  been  run  over,  or — or  anythin'g?"  She 
clutched  at  the  big  hand  and  clung  to  it. 

"No,"  Mrs.  Maitland  said,  dryly;  "I  don't  think  any 
thing  has  happened  to  him" 

Mrs.  Richie  had  the  grace  to  blush.  "Of  course  I 
meant  Blair  and  Nannie,  too,"  she  murmured. 

"You  never  thought  of  'em!"  Mrs.  Maitland  said, 
chuckling;  "now  you  must  have  some  supper." 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  it  when  a  note  came  from 
Mr.  Ferguson  to  say  that  he  was  on  the  track  of  the  run 
aways.  He  had  sent  a  despatch  that  would  insure  their 
being  returned  by  the  next  train,  and  he  was  himself 
going  half-way  up  the  road  to  meet  them.  Then  a  post 
script:  "Tell  Mrs.  Richie  not  to  worry." 

"Doesn't  seem  much  disturbed  about  my  worry,"  said 
Mrs.  Maitland,  jocosely  significant;  then  with  loud  cheer 
fulness  she  tried  to  rally  her  guest :  "  It's  all  right;  what 
did  I  tell  you?  Where's  my  knitting?  Come;  I'll  go 
over  to  the  parlor  with  you;  we'll  sit  there." 

Mrs.  Maitland's  parlor  was  not  calculated  to  cheer  a 
panic-stricken  mother.  It  was  a  vast  room,  rather 
chilly  on  this  foggy  November  evening,  and  smelling  of 
soot.  On  its  remote  ceiling  was  a  design  in  delicate 
relief  of  garlands  and  wreaths,  which  the  dingy  years 
had  not  been  able  to  rob  of  its  austere  beauty.  Two 
veined  black-marble  columns  supported  an  arch  that 

32 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

divided  the  desert  of  the  large  room  into  two  smaller 
rooms,  each  of  which  had  the  center-table  of  the  period, 
its  bleak  white-marble  top  covered  with  elaborately 
gilded  books  that  no  one  ever  opened.  Each  room  had, 
too,  a  great  cut  -  glass  chandelier,  swathed  in  brown 
paper  -  muslin  and  looking  like  a  gigantic  withered 
pear.  Each  had  its  fireplace,  with  a  mantelpiece  of 
funereal  marble  to  match  the  pillars.  Mrs.  Maitland 
had  refurnished  this  parlor  when  she  came  to  the  old 
house  as  a  bride;  she  banished  to  the  lumber-room,  or 
even  to  the  auctioneer's  stand,  the  heavy,  stately  mahog 
any  of  the  early  part  of  the  century,  and  purchased 
according  to  the  fashion  of  the  day,  glittering  rosewood, 
carved  and  gilded  and  as  costly  as  could  be  found.  Be 
tween  the  windows  at  each  end  of  the  long  room  were 
mirrors  in  enormous  gilt  frames;  the  windows  themselves, 
topped  with  cornices  and  heavy  lambrequins,  were  hung 
with  crimson  brocade;  a  grand  piano,  very  bare  and 
shining,  sprawled  sidewise  between  the  black  columns 
of  the  arch,  and  on  the  wall  opposite  the  fireplaces  were 
four  large  landscapes  in  oil,  of  exactly  the  same  size. 
"Herbert  likes  pictures,"  the  bride  said  to  herself  when 
she  purchased  them.  "That  goose  Molly  Wharton 
wouldn't  have  been  able  to  buy  'em  for  him!"  The  only 
pleasant  thing  in  the  meaningless  room  was  Nannie's 
drawing-board,  which  displayed  the  little  girl's  pains 
taking  and  surprisingly  exact  copy  in  lead-pencil,  of 
some  chromo — "Evangeline  "  perhaps,  or  some  popular 
sentimentality  of  the  sixties.  In  the  ten  years  which 
had  elapsed  since  Mrs.  Maitland  had  plunged  into  her 
debauch  of  furnishing — her  one  extravagance ! — of  course 
the  parlors  had  softened;  the  enormous  roses  of  the  car 
pets  had  faded,  the  glitter  of  varnish  had  dimmed;  but 
the  change  was  not  sufficient  to  blur  in  Mrs.  Maitland's 
eyes,  all  the  costly  and  ugly  glory  of  the  room.  She 
cast  a  complacent  glance  about  her  as  she  motioned 
her  nervous  and  preoccupied  guest  to  a  chair.  "How 

33 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

do  you  like  Mercer?"  she  said,  beginning  to  knit  rap 
idly. 

"  Oh,  very  well;  it  is  a  little — smoky,"  Mrs.  Richie  said, 
glancing  at  the  clock. 

Mrs.  Maitland  grunted.  "Mercer  would  be  in  a  bad 
way  without  its  smoke.  You  ought  to  learn  to  like  it,  as 
I  do !  I  like  the  smell  of  it,  I  like  the  taste  of  it,  I  like  the 
feel  of  it!" 

"Really?"  Mrs.  Richie  murmured;  she  was  watching 
the  clock. 

"  That  smoke,  let  me  tell  you  Mrs.  Richie  is  the  pillar 
of  cloud,  to  this  country!  (If  you  read  your  Bible,  you'll 
know  what  that  means.)  I  think  of  it  whenever  1  look 
at  my  stacks." 

Mrs.  Maitland's  resentment  at  her  guest's  mild  criti 
cism  was  obvious;  but  Mrs.  Richie  did  not  notice  it. 
"I  think  I'll  go  down  to  the  station  and  meet  the  chil 
dren,"  she  said,  rising. 

"I'm  afraid  you  are  a  very  foolish  woman,"  Sarah 
Maitland  said; — and  Mrs.  Richie  sat  down.  "Mr.  Fer 
guson  will  bring  'em  here.  Anyway,  this  clock  is  half  an 
hour  slow.  They'll  be  here  before  you  could  get  to  the 
station."  She  chuckled,  slyly.  Her  sense  of  humor 
was  entirely  rudimentary,  and  never  got  beyond  the 
practical  joke.  "I've  been  watching  you  look  at  that 
clock," she  said;  then  she  looked  at  it  herself  and  frowned. 
She  was  wasting  a  good  deal  of  time  over  this  business  of 
the  children.  But  in  spite  of  herself,  glancing  at  the 
graceful  figure  sitting  in  tense  waiting  at  the  fireside,  she 
smiled.  "  You  are  a  pretty  creature,"  she  said;  and  Mrs. 
Richie  started  and  blushed  like  a  girl.  "If  Robert 
Ferguson  had  any  sense!"  she  went  on,  and  paused  to 
pick  up  a  dropped  stitch.  "Queer  fellow,  isn't  he?" 
Mrs.  Richie  had  nothing  to  say.  "Something  went 
wrong  with  him  when  he  was  young,  just  after  he  left 
college.  Some  kind  of  a  crash.  Woman  scrape,  I  sup 
pose.  Have  you  ever  noticed  that  women  make  all  the 

34 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

trouble  in  the  world?  Well,  he  never  got  over  it.  He 
told  me  once  that  Life  wouldn't  play  but  one  trick  on 
him.  'We're  always  going  to  sit  down  on  a  chair — and 
Life  pulls  it  from  under  us,'  he  said.  '  It  won't  do  that  to 
me  twice.'  He's  not  given  to  being  confidential,  but 
that  put  me  on  the  track.  And  now  he's  got  Elizabeth 
on  his  hands." 

"She's  a  dear  little  thing,"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  smiling; 
"though  I  confess  she  always  fights  shy  of  me;  she 
doesn't  like  me,  I'm  afraid." 

Mrs.  Maitland  lifted  an  eyebrow.  "She's  a  corked-up 
volcano.  Robert  Ferguson  ought  to  get  married,  and 
give  her  an  aunt  to  look  after  her."  She  glanced  at 
Mrs.  Richie  again,  with  appraising  eyes;  "pity  he  hasn't 
more  sense." 

"I  think  I  hear  a  carriage,"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  coldly. 
Then  she  forgot  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  stood  waiting  and 
trembling.  A  minute  later  Mr.  Ferguson  ushered  the 
three  sleepy,  whimpering  children  into  the  room,  and 
Mrs.  Richie  caught  her  grimy,  crying  little  boy  in  her 
arms  and  cried  with  him.  "Oh,  David,  oh,  David — 
my  darling!  How  could  you  frighten  mother  so!" 

She  was  on  her  knees  before  him,  and  while  her  tears 
and  kisses  fell  on  his  tousled  thatch  of  yellow  hair,  he 
burrowed  his  dirty  little  face  among  the  laces  around 
her  white  throat  and  bawled  louder  than  ever.  Mrs. 
Maitland,  her  back  to  the  fireplace,  her  hands  on  her 
hips,  stood  looking  on;  she  was  very  much  interested. 
Blair,  hungry  and  sleepy  and  evidently  frightened,  was 
nuzzling  up  against  Mrs.  Richie,  catching  at  her  hand 
and  trying  to  hide  behind  her  skirts ;  he  looked  furtively 
at  his  mother,  but  he  would  not  meet  her  eye. 

"Blair,"  she  said,  "go  to  bed." 

"Nannie  and  me  want  some  supper,"  said  Blair  in  a 
whisper. 

"You  won't  get  any.  Boys  that  go  traveling  at 
supper- time  can  get  their  own  suppers  or  go  hungry." 

35 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"It's  my  fault,  Mamma,"  Nannie  panted. 

"No,  it  ain't!"  Blair  said  quickly,  emerging  from  be 
hind  Mrs.  Richie;  "it  was  me  made  her  do  it." 

"Well,  clear  out,  clear  out!  Go  to  bed,  both  of  you," 
Mrs.  Maitland  said.  But  when  the  two  children  had 
scuttled  out  of  the  room  she  struck  her  knee  with  her 
fist  and  laughed  immoderately. 

The  next  morning,  when  the  two  children  skulked 
palely  into  the  dining-room,  they  were  still  frightened. 
Mrs.  Maitland,  however,  did  not  notice  them.  She  was 
absorbed  in  trying  in  the  murky  light  to  read  the  morning 
paper,  propped  against  the  silver  urn  in  front  of  her. 

"Sit  down,"  she  said;  "I  don't  like  children  who  are 
late  for  breakfast.  Bless,  O  Lord,  we  beseech  Thee,  these 
things  to  our  use,  and  us  to  Thy  service  and  glory.  Amen ! 
— Harris!  Light  the  gas." 

Mercer's  daylight  was  always  more  or  less  wan;  but  in 
the  autumn  the  yellow  fogs  seemed  to  press  the  low- 
hanging  smoke  down  into  the  great  bowl  of  the  hills  at 
the  bottom  of  which  the  town  lay,  and  the  wanness 
scarcely  lightened,  even  at  high  noon.  On  such  days 
the  gas  in  the  dining-room — or  office,  if  one  prefers  to 
call  it  so — flared  from  breakfast  until  dinner  time.  It 
flared  now  on  two  scared  little  faces.  Once  Blair  lifted 
questioning  eyebrows  at  Harris,  and  managed  when  the 
man  brought  his  plate  of  porridge  to  whisper,  "mad?" 
At  which  the  sympathetic  Harris  rolled  his  eyes  speech 
lessly,  and  the  two  children  grew  perceptibly  paler. 
But  when,  abruptly,  Mrs.  Maitland  crumpled  her  news 
paper  together  and  threw  it  on  the  floor,  her  absorbed 
face  showed  no  displeasure.  The  fact  was,  she  had  for 
gotten  the  affair  of  the  night  before;  it  was  the  children's 
obvious  alarm  which  reminded  her  that  the  business  of 
scolding  and  punishing  must  be  attended  to.  She  got 
up  from  the  table  and  stood  behind  them,  with  her  back 
to  the  fire;  she  began  to  nibble  the  upper  joint  of  her 
forefinger,  wondering  just  how  to  begin.  This  silent 

36 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

inspection  of  their  shoulders  made  the  little  creatures 
quiver.  Nannie  crumbled  her  bread  into  a  heap,  and 
Blair  carried  an  empty  spoon  to  his  mouth  with  auto 
matic  regularity;  Harris,  in  the  pantry,  in  a  paroxysm  of 
sympathy,  stretched  his  lean  neck  to  the  crack  of  the 
half-open  door. 

"Children!" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  Nannie  quavered. 

"Turn  round." 

They  turned.  Nannie  began  to  cry.  Blair  twisted  a 
button  on  his  coat  with  a  grip  that  made  his  ringers  white. 

"  Come  into  my  room." 

The  children  gasped  with  dismay.  Mrs.  Maitland's 
bedroom  was  a  nightmare  of  a  place  to  them  both.  It 
was  generally  dark,  for  the  lower  halves  of  the  inside 
shutters  were  apt  to  be  closed;  but,  worse  than  that,  the 
glimmering  glass  doors  of  the  bookcases  that  lined  the 
walls  held  a  suggestion  of  mystery  that  was  curiously 
terrifying.  Whenever  they  entered  the  room,  the  brother 
and  sister  always  kept  a  frightened  eye  on  those  doors. 
This  dull  winter  morning,  when  they  came  quaking 
along  behind  their  mother  into  this  grim  place,  it  was 
still  in  the  squalor  of  morning  confusion.  Later,  Harris 
would  open  the  shutters  and  tidy  things  up;  he  would 
dust  the  painted  pine  bureau  and  Blair's  photographs  and 
the  slender  green  bottle  of  German  cologne  on  which  the 
red  ribbons  of  the  calendar  were  beginning  to  fade ;  now 
everything  was  dark  and  bleak  and  covered  with  dust. 
Mrs.  Maitland  sat  down;  the  culprits  stood  hand  in  hand 
in  front  of  her. 

"  Blair,  don't  you  know  it's  wrong  to  take  what  doesn't 
belong  to  you?" 

"I  took  it,"  said  the  'fraid-cat,  faintly;  she  moved  in 
front  of  her  brother  as  though  to  protect  him. 

"  Blair  told  you  to,"  his  mother  said. 

"Yes,"  Blair  blurted  out,  "it  was  me  told  her  to." 

"  People  that  take  things  that  don't  belong  to  them  go 

37 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  hell,"  Mrs.  Maitland  said;  "haven't  you  learned  that 
in  Sunday-school?" 

Silence. 

"  You  ought  to  be  punished  very  severely,  Blair — and 
Nannie,  too.  But  I  am  very  busy  this  morning,  so  I 
shall  only  say  " — she  hesitated ;  what  on  earth  should  she 
say!  "that — that  you  shall  lose  your  allowance  for  this 
week,  both  of  you." 

One  of  them  muttered,  "  Yes'm." 

Mrs.  Maitland  looked  as  uncomfortable  as  they  did. 
She  wondered  what  to  do  next.  How  much  simpler  a 
furnace  was  than  a  child!  "Well,"  she  said,  "that's 
all — at  present " ;  it  had  suddenly  occurred  to  her  that 
apprehension  was  a  good  thing;  "at  present,"  she  re 
peated  darkly;  "and  Blair,  remember;  thieves  go  to 
hell."  She  watched  them  with  perplexed  eyes  as  they 
hurried  out  of  the  room;  just  as  they  reached  the  door 
she  called:  "Blair!" 

The  child  stopped  short  in  his  tracks  and  quivered. 

"  Come  here."  He  came,  slowly,  his  very  feet  showing 
his  reluctance.  -  "  Blair,"  she  said — in  her  effort  to  speak 
gently  her  voice  grated ;  she  put  out  her  hand  as  if  to  draw 
him  to  her,  but  the  child  shivered  and  moved  aside.  Mrs. 
Maitland  looked  at  him  dumbly;  then  bent  toward  him, 
and  her  hands,  hanging  between  her  knees,  opened  and 
closed,  and  even  half  stretched  out  as  if  in  inarticulate  en 
treaty.  Nannie,  in  the  doorway,  sobbing  under  her  breath, 
watched  with  frightened,  uncomprehending  eyes.  "My 
son,"  Sarah  Maitland  said,  with  as  much  mildness  as  her 
loud  voice  could  express,  "  what  did  you  mean  to  do  when 
you  ran  away?"  She  smiled,  but  he  would  not  meet  her 
eyes.  "  Tell  me,  my  boy,  why  did  you  run  away?" 

Blair  tried  to  speak,  cleared  his  throat,  and  blurted  out 
four  husky  words :  "  Don't  like  it  here." 

"  Don't  like  what  ?     Your  home?" 

Blair  nodded. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  astonished. 

38 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Ugly,"  Blair  said,  faintly. 

"Ugly!     What  is  ugly?"  " 

Blair,  without  looking  up,  made  a  little,  swift  gesture 
with  his  hand.  "This,"  he  said;  then  suddenly  he 
lifted  his  head,  gave  her  a  sidewise,  shrinking  look, 
and  dropped  his  eyes.  The  color  flew  into  Mrs.  Mait- 
land's  face;  with  an  ejaculation  of  anger,  she  got  on  her 
feet.  "  You  are  a  very  foolish  and  very  bad  little  boy," 
she  said;  "you  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about. 
I  had  meant  to  increase  your  allowance,  but  now  I  won't 
do  it.  Listen  to  me;  it  is  no  matter  whether  a  house,  or 
a — a  person,  is  what  you  call  'ugly.'  What  matters  is 
whether  they  are  useful.  Everything  in  the  world  ought 
to  be  useful — like  our  Works.  If  I  ever  hear  you  saying 
you  don't  like  a  thing  because  it's  ugly,  I  shall — I  shall 
not  give  you  any  money  at  all.  Money!"  she  burst  out, 
suddenly  fluent,  "money  isn't  pretty!  Dirty  scraps  of 
paper,  bits  of  silver  that  look  like  lead — perhaps  you  call 
money  'ugly,'  too?" 

Her  vehemence  was  a  sort  of  self-defense;  it  was  a 
subtle  confession  that  she  felt  in  this  little  repelling  per 
sonality  the  challenge  of  an  equal ;  but  Blair  only  gaped 
at  her  in  childish  confusion;  and  instantly  his  mother 
was  herself  again.  "  Clear  out,  now;  and  be  a  good  boy." 

When  she  was  alone,  she  sat  at  her  desk  in  the  dining- 
room  for  several  minutes  without  taking  up  her  pen. 
Her  face  burned  from  the  slap  of  the  child's  words;  but 
below  the  scorch  of  anger  and  mortification  her  heart  was 
bruised.  He  did  not  like  her  to  put  her  arm  about  him! 
She  drew  a  long  breath  and  began  to  read  her  letters; 
but  all  the  while  she  was  thinking  of  that  scene  in  the 
parlor  the  night  before:  Blair  crouching  against  Mrs. 
Richie,  clinging  to  her  white  hand ; — involuntarily  Sarah 
Maitland  looked  at  her  own  hand;  "  I  suppose,"  she  said 
to  herself,  "he  thinks  hers  is  'pretty'!  Where  does  he 
get  such  notions?  I  wonder  what  kind  of  a  woman  she 
is,  anyway;  she  never  says  anything  about  her  husband." 

39 


CHAPTER  III 

THERE  came  a  day  when  Miss  White's  little  school  in 
the  garret  was  broken  up.  Mr.  Ferguson  declared  that 
David  and  Blair  needed  a  boot  instead  of  a  petticoat  to 
teach  them  their  Latin — and  a  few  other  things,  too! 
He  had  found  Mrs.  Richie  in  tears  because,  under  the  big 
hawthorn  in  her  own  back  yard,  David  had  blacked 
Blair's  eye,  and  had  himself  achieved  a  bloody  nose. 
Mrs.  Richie  was  for  putting  on  her  things  to  go  and  apolo 
gize  to  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  was  hardly  restrained  by  her 
landlord's  snort  of  laughter. 

"Next  time  I  hope  he'll  give  him  two  black  eyes,  and 
Blair  will  loosen  one  of  his  front  teeth!"  said  Mr.  Fergu 
son. 

David's  mother  was  speechless  with  horror. 

"  That's  the  worst  of  trusting  a  boy  to  a  good  woman," 
he  barked,  knocking  off  his  glasses  angrily;  "but  I'll  do 
what  I  can  to  thwart  you !  I'll  make  sure  there  isn't  any 
young-eyed  cherubin  business  about  David.  He  has  got 
to  go  to  boarding-school,  and  learn  something  besides 
his  prayers.  If  somebody  doesn't  rescue  him  from 
apron-strings,  he'll  be  a  'very,  very  good  young  man' 
— and  then  may  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  his  soul!" 

"I  didn't  know  anybody  could  be  too  good,"  Mrs. 
Richie  ventured. 

"A  woman  can't  be  too  good,  but  a  man  oughtn't  to 
be,"  her  landlord  instructed  her. 

David's  mother  was  too  bewildered  by  such  sentiments 
to  protest — although,  indeed,  Mr.  Ferguson  need  not 
have  been  quite  so  concerned  about  David's  "goodness.", 

40 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

This  freckled,  clear-eyed  youngster,  with  straight  yellow 
hair  and  good  red  cheeks,  was  just  an  honest,  growl y 
boy,  who  dropped  his  clothes  about  on  the  floor  of  his 
room,  and  whined  over  his  lessons,  and  blustered  largely 
when  out  of  his  mother's  hearing;  furthermore,  he  had 
already  experienced  his  first  stogie — with  a  consequent 
pallor  about  the  gills  that  scared  Mrs.  Richie  nearly  to 
death.  But  Robert  Ferguson's  jeering  reference  to 
apron-strings  resulted  in  his  being  sent  to  boarding- 
school.  Blair  went  with  him,  "rescued"  from  the  good- 
woman  regime  of  Cherry-pie's  instruction  by  Mr.  Fergu 
son's  advice  to  Mrs.  Maitland;  "although,"  Robert 
Ferguson  admitted,  candidly,  "he  doesn't  need  it  as  poor 
David  does;  his  mother  wouldn't  know  how  to  make  a 
Miss  Nancy  of  him,  even  if  she  wanted  to!"  Then,  with 
a  sardonic  guess  at  Mrs.  Richie's  unspoken  thought,  he 
added  that  Mrs.  Maitland  would  not  dream  of  going  to 
live  in  the  town  where  her  son  was  at  school.  "  She  has 
sense  enough  to  know  that  Blair,  or  any  other  boy 
worth  his  salt,  would  hate  his  mother  if  she  tagged  on 
behind,"  said  Mr.  Ferguson;  "of  course  you  would  never 
think  of  doing  such  a  thing,  either,"  he  ended,  iron 
ically. 

"Of  course  not,"  said  Mrs.  Richie,  faintly.  So  it  was 
that,  assisted  by  her  landlord,  David's  mother  thrust 
her  one  chicken  out  into  the  world  unprotected  by  her 
hovering  wing.  About  the  time  Miss  White  lost  her  two 
masculine  pupils,  the  girls  began  to  go  to  a  day-school  in 
Mercer,  Cherry-pie's  entire  deposition  as  a  teacher  being 
brought  about  because,  poor  lady!  she  fumbled  badly 
when  it  came  to  a  critical  moment  with  Elizabeth.  It 
all  grew  out  of  one  of  the  child's  innumerable  squabbles 
with  David — she  got  along  fairly  peaceably  with  Blair. 
She  and  Nannie  had  been  comparing  pigtails,  and  Da 
vid  had  asserted  that  Elizabeth's  hair  was  "the  nicest"; 
which  so  gratified  her  that  she  first  hugged  him  violently, 
and  then  invited  him  to  take  her  out  rowing. 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I'll  pay  for  the  boat !"  she  said,  and  pirouetted  around 
the  room,  keeping  time  with : 

"  '  Oh,  that  will  be  joyful,  joyful,  joyful! 
Oh,  that  will  be—' 

Uncle  gave  me  a  dollar  yesterday,"  she  interrupted  her 
self,  breathlessly. 

To  this  David,  patiently  straightening  his  collar  after 
that  ecstatic  embrace,  objected;  but  his  magnanimity 
was  lessened  by  his  explanation  that  he  wasn't  going 
to  have  any  girl  pay  for  him!  This  ruffled  Elizabeth's 
pride  for  a  moment;  however,  she  was  not  averse  to 
saving  her  dollar,  so  everything  was  arranged.  David 
was  to  row  her  to  Willis's,  a  country  tavern  two  miles 
down  the  river,  where,  as  all  middle-aged  Mercer  will 
remember,  the  best  jumbles  in  the  world  could  be  pur 
chased  at  the  agreeable  price  of  two  for  a  cent.  Eliza 
beth,  who  was  still  congratulating  herself  on  having 
"nicer  hair  than  Nannie,"  and  who  loved  the  river  (and 
the  jumbles) ,  was  as  punctual  as  a  clock  in  arriving  at  the 
covered  bridge  where  at  the  toll-house  wharf  they  were 
to  meet  and  embark.  She  had  even  been  so  forehanded 
as  to  bargain  with  Mrs.  Todd  for  the  hire  of  the  skiff,  in 
which  she  immediately  seated  herself,  the  tiller-ropes  in 
her  hands,  all  ready  for  David  to  take  the  oars.  "And 
I've  waited,  and  waited,  and  waited!"  she  told  herself 
angrily,  as  she  sat  there  in  the  faintly  rocking  skiff.  And 
after  an  hour  of  waiting,  what  should  she  see  but  David 
Richie  racing  on  the  bridge  with  Blair  Maitland!  He 
had  just  simply  forgotten  his  engagement!  (Elizabeth 
was  so  nearly  a  young  lady  that  she  said  "  engagement.") 

"I'll  never  forgive  him,"  she  said,  and  the  dimple 
hardened  in  her  cheek.  Sitting  in  the  boat,  she  looked  up 
at  the  two  boys,  David  in  advance,  a  young,  lithe  figure, 
in  cotton  small-clothes  and  jersey,  leaping  in  great,  beau 
tiful  strides,  on  and  on  and  on,  his  face  glowing,  his  eyes 

42 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

like  stars;  then,  alas,  he  gave  a  downward  glance  and 
there  was  Elizabeth,  waiting  fiercely  in  the  skiff!  His 
"engagement"  came  back  to  him;  there  was  just  one 
astonished,  faltering  instant;  and  in  it,  of  course,  Blair 
shot  ahead !  It  must  be  confessed  that  in  his  rage  at 
being  beaten  David  promptly  forgot  Elizabeth  again,  for 
though  she  waited  still  a  little  longer  for  him  and  his 
apology,  no  David  appeared,  he  and  Blair  being  occupied 
in  wrangling  over  their  race.  She  went  home  in  a  slowly 
gathering  passion.  David  had  forgotten  her!  "He  likes 
Blair  better  than  me;  he'd  rather  race  with  another  boy 
than  go  out  in  a  boat  with  me ;  and  I  said  I'd  pay  for  it — 
and  I've  only  got  one  dollar  in  the  whole  world!"  At 
that  stab  of  self-pity  a  tear  ran  down  the  side  of  her  nose 
(and  she  was  still  a  whole  block  away  from  home !) ; 
when  it  reached  her  lip,  she  was  obliged  to  put  her 
tongue  out  furtively  and  lick  it  away.  But  repression 
made  the  outbreak,  when  it  came,  doubly  furious.  She 
burst  in  upon  Miss  White,  her  dry  eyes  blazing  with  rage. 

" He  made  me  wait ;  he  didn't  come;  I  hate  him.  I'll 
never  speak  to  him  again.  He  hurt  my  feelings.  He  is 
a  beast." 

"  Elizabeth !  You  mustn't  use  such  unladylike  words ! 
When  I  was  a  young  lady  I  never  even  heard  such  words. 
Oh,  my  lamb,  if  you  don't  control  your  temper,  some 
thing  dreadful  will  happen  to  you  some  day!"  v- 

"I  hope  something  dreadful  will  happen  to  him  some 
day,"  said  Elizabeth.  And  with  that  came  the  tears — a 
torrential  rain,  through  which  the  lightning  played  and 
the  thunder  crashed.  Miss  White  in  real  terror,  left  her, 
to  get  some  smelling-salts,  and  the  instant  she  was  alone 
Elizabeth  ran  across  the  room  and  stood  before  her 
mirror;  then  she  took  a  pair  of  scissors  in  her  shaking 
hand  and  hacked  off  lock  after  lock,  strand  after  strand, 
of  her  shining  hair.  When  it  was  done,  she  looked  at 
the  russet  stubble  that  was  left  with  triumphant  rage. 
"There,  now!  I  guess  he  won't  think  my  hair  is  nicer 

43 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

than  Nannie's  any  more.  I  hate  him!"  she  said,  and 
laughed  out  loud,  her  vivid  face  wet  and  quivering. 

Miss  White,  hurrying  in,  heard  the  laugh,  and  stood 
transfixed:  "  Elizabeth!"  The  poor,  ugly,  shorn  head, 
the  pile  of  gleaming  hair  on  the  bureau,  the  wicked,  tear- 
stained,  laughing  face  brought  the  poor  lady's  heart 
into  her  tliroat.  "  Elizabeth!"  she  faltered  again;  and 
Elizabeth  ran  and  flung  her  arms  about  her  neck. 

"David  forgot  all  about  me,"  she  sobbed.  "He  is 
always  hurting  my  feelings!  And  I  can't  bear  to  have 
my  feelings  hurt.  Oh,  Cherry-pie,  kiss  me!  Kiss  me!" 

That  was  the  end  of  the  outburst;  the  ensuing  peni 
tence  was  unbridled  and  temporary.  The  next  morning 
she  waylaid  David  to  offer  him  some  candy,  which  he 
took  with  serene  unconsciousness  of  any  bad  behavior 
on  his  part. 

"Awfully  sorry  I  forgot  about  Willis's,"  he  said  casu 
ally;  and  took  a  hearty  handful  of  candy. 

Elizabeth,  looking  into  the  nearly  empty  box,  winced; 
then  said,  bravely,  "Take  some  more."  He  took  a  good 
deal  more. 

"David,  I — I'm  sorry  I  cut  my  hair." 

"Why,  I  didn't  notice,"  David  said,  wrinkling  up  his 
freckled  nose  and  glancing  at  her  with  some  interest. 
"  It  looks  awfully,  doesn't  it  ?" 

"David,  don't  tell  your  mother,  will  you?  She  looks 
so  sort  of  horrified  when  I've  been  provoked.  It  almost 
makes  me  mad  again,"  Elizabeth  said,  candidly. 

"Materna  thinks  it's  dreadful  in  you." 

"  Do  you  mind  about  my  hair  ?"  Elizabeth  asked. 

David  laughed  uproariously.  "Why  on  earth  should  / 
mind  ?  If  I  were  a  girl,  you  bet  I'd  keep  my  hair  cut." 

"Do  you  forgive  me?"  she  said,  in  a  whisper;  "if  you 
don't  forgive  me,  I  shall  die." 

"  Forgive  you  ?"  said  David,  astonished,  his  mouth  full 
of  candy;  "why,  it's  nothing  to  me  if  you  cut  off  your 
hair.  Only  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  want  to  look  so  like 

44 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

'Sam  Hill.'  But  I  tell  you  what,  Elizabeth;  you're  too 
thin-skinned.  What's  the  use  of  geting  mad  over  every 
little  thing?" 

44  It  wasn't  so  very  little,  to  be  forgotten." 

44  Well,  yes;   I  suppose  you  were  disappointed,  but — 

Elizabeth's  color  began  to  rise.  "Oh,  I  wasn't  so 
terribly  disappointed.  You  needn't  flatter  yourself .  I 
simply  don't  like  to  be  insulted." 

"Ah,  now,  Elizabeth,"  he  coaxed,  "there  you  go 
again!" 

44  No,  I  don't.  I'm  not  angry.  Only — you  went  with 
Blair;  you  didn't  want — "  she  choked,  and  flew  back  into 
the  house,  deaf  to  his  clumsy  and  troubled  explanations. 

In  Miss  White's  room,  Elizabeth  announced  her  inten 
tion  of  entering  a  convent,  and  it  was  then  that  Cherry- 
pie  fumbled :  she  took  the  convent  seriously !  The  next 
morning  she  broke  the  awful  news  to  Elizabeth's  uncle. 
It  was  before  breakfast,  and  Mr.  Ferguson — who  had  not 
time  to  read  his  Bible  for  pressure  of  business — had 
gone  out  into  the  grape-arbor  in  his  narrow  garden  to 
feed  the  pigeons.  There  was  a  crowd  of  them  about  his 
feet,  their  rimpling,  iridescent  necks  and  soft  gray  bos 
oms  pushing  and  jostling  against  one  another,  and  their 
pink  feet  actually  touching  his  boots.  When  Miss  White 
burst  out  at  him,  the  pigeons  rose  in  startled  flight,  and 
Mr.  Ferguson  frowned. 

"And  she  says,"  Miss  White  ended,  almost  in  tears — 
"she  says  she  is  going  to  enter  a  convent  immejetly !" 

"My  dear  Miss  White,"  said  Elizabeth's  uncle,  grimly, 
"there's  no  such  luck." 

Miss  White  positively  reeled.  Then  he  explained,  and 
Cherry-pie  came  nearer  to  her  employer  in  those  ten 
minutes  than  in  the  ten  years  in  which  she  had  looked 
after  his  niece.  "  I  don't  care  about  Elizabeth's  temper ; 
she'll  get  over  that.  And  I  don't  care  a  continental  about 
her  hair  or  her  religion;  she  can  wear  a  wig  or  be  a  Mo 
hammedan  if  it  keeps  her  straight.  She  has  a  bad  in- 

45 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

heritance,  Miss  White ;  I  would  be  only  too  pleased  to 
know  that  she  was  shut  up  in  a  convent,  safe  and  sound. 
But  this  whim  isn't  worth  talking  about." 

Miss  White  retired,  nibbling  with  horror,  and  that 
night  Robert  Ferguson  went  in  to  tell  his  neighbor  his 
worries. 

"What  am  I  to  do  with  her  ?"  he  groaned. 

"She  cut  off  her  hair?"  Mrs.  Richie  repeated,  as 
tounded  ;  "but  why  ?  How  perfectly  irrational !" 

"Don't  say  'how  irrational';   say  'how  Elizabeth.'" 

"I  wish  she  would  try  to  control  her  temper,"  Mrs. 
Richie  said,  anxiously. 

But  Mr.  Ferguson  was  not  troubled  about  that.  "She's 
vain ;  that's  what  worries  me.  She  cried  all  afternoon 
about  her  hair." 

"She  needs  a  stronger  hand  than  kind  Miss  White's," 
Mrs.  Richie  said;  "why  not  send  her  to  school?"  And 
the  harassed  uncle  sighed  with  relief  at  the  idea,  which 
was  put  into  immediate  execution. 

With  growing  hair  and  the  wholesome  companionship 
of  other  girls,  of  course  the  ascetic  impulse  died  a  natural 
death;  but  the  temper  did  not  die.  It  only  hid  itself 
under  that  sense  of  propriety  which  is  responsible  for  so 
much  of  our  good  'behavior.  When  it  did  break  loose, 
the  child  suffered  afterward  from  the  consciousness  of 
having  made  a  fool  of  herself — which  is  a  wholesome 
consciousness  so  far  as  it  goes — but  it  did  not  go  very 
far  with  Elizabeth;  she  never  suffered  in  any  deeper 
way.  She  took  her  temper  for  granted;  she  was  not 
complacent  about  it;  she  did  not  credit  it  to  "tem 
perament,"  she  was  merely  matter  of  fact;  she  said 
she  "couldn't  help  it."  "I  don't  want  to  get  mad," 
she  used  to  say  to  Nannie  ;  "and  of  course  I  never  mean 
any  of  the  horrid  things  I  say.  I'd  like  to  be  good, 
like  you;  but  I  can't  help  being  wicked."  Between 
those  dark  moments  of  being  "wicked"  she  was  a  joy 
ous,  unself-conscious  girl  of  generous  loves,  which  she 

46 


THE    I  RON    WOMAN 

expressed  as  primitively  as  she  did  her  angers;  indeed, 
in  the  expression  of  affection  Elizabeth  had  the  exquisite 
and  sometimes  embarrassing  innocence  of  a  child  who 
has  been  brought  up  by  a  sad  old  bachelor  and  a  timid 
old  maid.  As  for  her  angers,  they  were  followed  by 
irrational  efforts  to  "make  up"  with  any  one  she  felt 
she  had  wronged.  She  spent  her  little  pocket-money 
in  buying  presents  for  her  malericiaries,  she  invented 
punishments  for  herself ;  and  generally  she  confessed  her 
sin  with  humiliating  fullness.  Once  she  confessed  to 
her  uncle,  thereby  greatly  embarrassing  him: 

"Uncle,  I  want  you  to  know  I  am  a  great  sinner; 
probably  the  chief  of  sinners,"  she  said,  breathing  hard. 
She  had  come  into  his  library  after  supper,  and  was 
standing  with  a  hand  on  the  back  of  his  chair;  her 
eyes  were  bright  with  unshed  tears. 

"Good  gracious!"  said  Robert  Ferguson,  looking  at  her 
blankly  over  his  glasses,  "what  on  earth  have  you  been 
doing  now?" 

"I  got  mad,  and  I  chopped  up  the  feather  in  Cherry- 
pie's  new  bonnet,  and  I  told  her  she  was  a  hideous, 
monstrous  old  donkey-hag." 

"Elizabeth!" 

"I  did." 

"Have  you  apologized?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Elizabeth;  "but  what's  the  good  of  'polo- 
gizing?  /  said  it.  'Course  I  'pologized ;  and  I  kissed 
her  muddy  rubbers  when  she  wasn't  looking;  and  I 
gave  her  all  my  money  for  a  new  feather" — she  stopped, 
and  sighed  deeply;  "and  here  is  the  money  you  gave 
me  to  go  to  the  theater.  So  now  I  haven't  any  money 
at  all,  in  the  world." 

Poor  Robert  Ferguson,  with  a  despairing  jerk  at  the 
black  ribbon  of  his  glasses,  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  help 
less  with  perplexity.  Why  on  earth  did  she  give  him 
back  his  money  ?  He  could  not  follow  her  mental  proc 
esses.  He  said  as  much  to  Mrs.  Richie  the  next  time  he 
4  47 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

went  to  see  her.  He  went  to  see  her  quite  often  in  those 
days.  For  the  convenience  of  David  and  Elizabeth,  a 
doorway  had  been  cut  in  the  brick  wall  between  the  two 
gardens,  and  Mr.  Ferguson  used  it  frequently.  In  their 
five  or  six  years  of  living  next  door  to  each  other  the 
acquaintance  of  these  two  neighbors  had  deepened  into 
a  sort  of  tentative  intimacy,  which  they  never  quite 
thought  of  as  friendship,  but  which  permitted  many 
confidences  about  their  two  children. 

And  when  they  talked  about  their  children,  they  spoke, 
of  course,  of  the  other  two,  for  one  could  not  think  of 
David  without  remembering  Blair,  or  talk  of  Elizabeth 
without  contrasting  her  with  Nannie.  Nannie  had  none 
of  that  caroling  vitality  which  made  the  younger  girl  an 
acute  anxiety  and  a  perpetual  delight.  She  was  like  a 
little  plant  growing  in  the  shade — a  gently  good  child, 
who  never  gave  anybody  any  trouble ;  she  continued  to 
be  a  'fraid-cat,  and  looked  under  the  bed  every  night 
for  a  burglar.  With  Blair  at  boarding-school  her  life 
was  very  solitary,  for  of  course  there  was  no  intimacy 
between  her  and  her  stepmother.  Mrs.  Maitland  was 
invariably  kind  to  her,  and  astonishingly  patient  with 
the  rather  dull  little  mind — one  of  those  minds  that  are 
like  softly  tangled  skeins  of  single  zephyr;  if  you  try  to 
unwind  the  mild,  elusive  thoughts,  they  only  knot  tightly 
upon  themselves,  and  the  result  is  a  half-frightened  and 
very  obstinate  silence.  But  Mrs.  Maitland  never  tried 
to  unwind  Nannie's  thoughts;  she  used  to  look  at  her 
sometimes  in  kindly  amusement,  as  one  might  look  at  a 
kitten  or  a  canary;  and  sometimes  she  said  to  Robert 
Ferguson  that  Nannie  was  like  her  own  mother; — "but 
Blair  has  brains!"  she  would  say,  complacently. 
School  did  not  give  the  girl  the  usual  intense  friendships, 
and  except  for  Elizabeth,  she  had  no  companions;  her 
one  interest  was  Blair,  and  her  only  occupation  out  of 
school  hours  was  her  drawing — which  was  nothing  more 
than  endless,  meaningless  copying.  It  was  Nannie's 

48 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

essential  child-likeness  that  kept  her  elders,  and  indeed 
David  and  Blair  too,  from  understanding  that  she  and 
Elizabeth  were  no  longer  little  girls.  Perhaps  the  boys 
first  realized  Elizabeth's  age  when  they  simultaneously 
discovered  that  she  was  pretty.  .  .  . 

Elizabeth's  long  braids  had  been  always  attractive 
to  the  masculine  eye;  they  had  suggested  jokes  about 
pigtails,  and  much  of  that  peculiar  humor  so  pleasing  to 
the  young  male;  but  the  summer  that  she  "put"  up 
her  hair,"  the  puppies,  so  to  speak,  got  their  eyes  open. 
When  the  boys  saw  those  soft  plaits,  no  longer  hanging 
within  easy  reach  of  a  rude  and  teasing  hand,  but  folded 
around  her  head  behind  her  little  ears;  when  they  saw 
the  small  curls  breaking  over  and  through  the  brown 
braids  that  were  necked  with  gilt,  and  the  stray  locks, 
like  feathers  of  spun  silk,  clustering  in  the  nape  of  her 
neck;  when  David  and  Blair  saw  these  things — it  was 
about  the  time  their  voices  were  showing  amazing  and 
ludicrous  register — something  below  the  artless  brutali 
ties  of  the  boys'  sense  of  humor  was  touched.  They  took 
abruptly  their  first  perilous  step  out  of  boyhood.  Of 
course  they  did  not  know  it.  ...  The  significant  mo 
ment  came  one  afternoon  when  they  all  went  out  to 
the  toll-house  for  ice-cream.  There  was  a  little  delay  at 
the  gate,  while  the  boys  wrangled  as  to  who  should  stand 
treat.  "I'll  pull  straws  with  you,"  said  Blair;  Blair's 
pleasant,  indolent  mind  found  the  appeal  to  chance  the 
easiest  way  to  settle  things,  but  he  was  always  good- 
natured  when,  as  now,  the  verdict  was  against  him. 
"  Come  on,"  he  commanded, gayly,  "  I'll  shell  out!"  Mrs. 
Todd,  who  had  begun  to  dispense  pink  and  brown  ice 
cream  for  them  when  they  were  very  little  children,  winked 
and  nodded  as  they  all  came  in  together,  and  made  a  jo 
cose  remark  about  "handsome  couples"  ;  then  she  trundled 
off  to  get  the  ice-cream,  leaving  them  in  the  saloon.  This 
"saloon"  was  an  ell  of  the  toll-house;  it  opened  on  a 
little  garden,  from  which  a  flight  of  rickety  steps  led 

49 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

down  to  a  float  where  half  a  dozen  skiffs  were  tied  up, 
waiting  to  be  hired.  In  warm  weather,  when  the  garden 
was  blazing  with  fragrant  color,  Mrs.  Todd  would  permit 
favored  patrons  to  put  their  small  tables  out  among  the 
marigolds  and  zinnias  and  sit  and  eat  and  talk.  The 
saloon  itself  had  Nottingham-lace  window-curtains,  and 
crewel  texts  enjoining  remembrance  of  the  Creator,  and 
calling  upon  Him  to  "bless  our  home."  The  tables, 
with  marble  tops  translucent  from  years  of  spilled  ice 
cream,  had  each  a  worsted  mat,  on  which  was  a  glass 
vase  full  of  blue  paper  roses;  on  the  ceiling  there  was  a 
wonderful  star  of  scalloped  blue  tissue-paper — ostensibly 
to  allure  flies,  but  hanging  there  winter  and  summer,  year 
in  and  year  out.  Between  the  windows  that  looked  out 
on  the  river  stood  a  piano,  draped  with  a  festooning 
scarf  of  bandanna  handkerchiefs.  These  things  seemed 
to  Blair,  at  this  stage  of  his  esthetic  development,  very 
satisfying,  and  part  of  his  pleasure  in  "treating"  came 
from  his  surroundings;  he  used  to  look  about  him  envi 
ously,  thinking  of  the  terrible  dining-room  at  home ;  and 
on  sunny  days  he  used  to  look,  with  even  keener  pleasure, 
at  the  reflected  ripple  of  light,  striking  up  from  the  river 
below,  and  moving  endlessly  across  the  fly-specked  ceiling. 
Watching  the  play  of  moving  light,  he  would  put  his  tin 
spoon  into  his  tumbler  of  ice-cream  and  taste  the  snowy 
mixture  with  a  slow  prolongation  of  pleasure,  while  the 
two  girls  chattered  like  sparrows,  and  David  listened, 
saying  very  little  and  always  ready  to  let  Elizabeth  finish 
his  ice-cream  after  she  had  devoured  her  own. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  that  Blair,  watching 
that  long  ripple  on  the  ceiling,  suddenly  saw  the  sunshine 
sparkle  on  Elizabeth's  hair,  and  his  spoon  paused  mid 
way  to  his  lips.  "Oh,  say,  isn't  Elizabeth's  hair  nice?" 
he  said. 

David  turned  and  looked  at  it.  "  I've  seen  lots  of  girls 
with  hair  like  that,"  he  said;  but  he  sighed,  and  scratched 
his  left  ankle  with  his  right  foot.  Blair,  smiling  to  him- 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

self,  put  out  a  hesitating  finger  and  touched  a  shimmering 
curl;  upon  which  Elizabeth  ducked  and  laughed,  and 
dancing  over  to  the  old  tin  pan  of  a  piano  pounded  out 
"Shoo  Fly"  with  one  finger.  Blair,  watching  the  lovely 
color  in  her  cheek,  said  in  honest  delight :  "  When  your  face 
gets  red  like  that,  you  are  awfully  good-looking,  Elizabeth . ' ' 

"Good-looking";  that  was  a  new  idea  to  the  four 
friends.  Nannie  gaped;  Elizabeth  giggled;  David  "got 
red"  on  his  own  account,  and  muttered  under  his  breath, 
"Tell  that  to  the  marines!"  But  into  Blair's  face  had 
come,  suddenly,  a  new  expression;  his  eyes  smiled 
vaguely;  he  came  sidling  over  to  Elizabeth  and  stood 
beside  her,  sighing  deeply :  "  Elizabeth,  you  are  an  awful 
nice  girl." 

Elizabeth  shrieked  with  laughter.  "  Listen  to  Blair — 
he's  spoony!" 

Instantly  Blair  was  angry;  "spooniness"  vanished  in  a 
flash;  he  did  not  speak  for  fully  five  minutes.  Just  as 
they  started  home,  however,  he  came  out  of  his  glumness 
to  remember  Miss  White.  "I'm  going  to  take  Cherry- 
pie  some  ice-cream,"  he  said;  and  all  the  way  back  he 
was  so  absorbed  in  trying — unsuccessfully — to  keep  the 
pallid  pink  contents  of  the  mussy  paper  box  from  drip 
ping  on  his  clothes  that  he  was  able  to  forget  Elizabeth's 
rudeness.  But  childhood,  for  all  four  of  them,  ended 
that  afternoon. 

When  vacation  was  over,  and  they  were  back  in  the 
harness  again,  both  boys  forgot  that  first  tremulous 
clutch  at  the  garments  of  life;  in  fact,  like  all  wholesome 
boys  of  fifteen  or  sixteen,  they  thought  "girls"  a  bore. 
It  was  not  until  the  next  long  vacation  that  the  old, 
happy,  squabbling  relationship  began  to  be  tinged  with  a 
new  consciousness.  It  was  the  elemental  instinct,  the 
everlasting  human  impulse.  The  boys,  hobbledehoys, 
both  of  them,  grew  shy  and  turned  red  at  unexpected 
moments.  The  girls  developed  a  certain  condescension 
of  manner,  which  was  very  confusing  and  irritating  to 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  boys.  Elizabeth,  as  unaware  of  herself  as  the  bud 
that  has  not  opened  to  the  bee,  sighed  a  good  deal,  and 
repeated  poetry  to  any  one  who  would  listen  to  her. 
She  said  boys  were  awfully  rough,  and  their  boots  had  a 
disagreeable  smell,  "I  shall  never  get  married,"  said 
Elizabeth;  "I  hate  boys."  Nannie  did  not  hate  any 
body,  but  she  thought  she  would  rather  be  a  missionary 
than  marry; — "though  I'm  afraid  I'd  be  afraid  of  the 
savages,"  she  confessed,  timorously. 

David  and  Blair  were  confidential  to  each  other  about 
girls  in  general,  and  Elizabeth  in  particular;  they  said 
she  was  terribly  stand-offish.  "Oh,  well,  she's  a  girl," 
said  David;  "what  can  you  expect?" 

"She's  darned  good-looking,"  Blair  blurted  out.  And 
David  said,  with  some  annoyance,  "What's  that  amount 
to?"  He  said  that,  for  his  part,  he  didn't  mean  to  fool 
around  after  girls.  "But  I'm  older  than  you,  Blair; 
you'll  feel  that  way  when  you  get  to  be  my  age;  it's  only 
when  a  man  is  very  young  that  he  bothers  with  'em." 

"That's  so,"  said  Blair,  gloomily.  "Well,  I  never 
expect  to  marry."  Blair  was  very  gloomy  just  then; 
he  had  come  home  from  school  the  embodiment  of  dis 
content.  He  was  old  enough  now  to  suffer  agonies  of 
mortification  because  of  his  mother's  occupation.  "The 
idea  of  a  lady  running  an  Iron  Works!"  he  said  to  David, 
who  tried  rather  half-heartedly  to  comfort  him;  David 
was  complacently  sure  that  his  mother  wouldn't  run  an 
Iron  Works!  "I  hate  the  whole  caboodle,"  Blair  said, 
angrily.  It  was  his  old  shrinking  from  "ugliness." 
And  everything  at  home  was  ugly; — the  great  old  house 
in  the  midst  of  Maitland's  Shantytown;  the  darkness  and 
grime  of  it;  the  smell  of  soot  in  the  halls;  Harris's  slat 
ternly  ways;  his  mother's  big,  beautiful,  dirty  fingers. 
"When  she  sneezes,"  Blair  said,  grinding  his  teeth,  "I 
could — swear!  She  takes  the  roof  off."  He  grew  hot 
with  shame  when  Mrs.  Richie,  whom  he  admired  pro 
foundly,  came  to  take  supper  with  his  mother  at  the 

52 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

office  table  with  its  odds  and  ends  of  china.  (As  the  old 
Canton  dinner  service  had  broken  and  fire-cracked, 
Harris  had  replenished  the  shelves  of  the  china-closet 
according  to  his  own  taste  limited  by  Mrs.  Maitland's 
economic  orders.)  Blair  found  everything  hideous,  or 
vulgar,  or  uncomfortable,  and  he  said  so  to  Nannie  with 
a  violence  that  betrayed  real  suffering.  For  it  is  suf 
fering  when  the  young  creature  finds  itself  ashamed  of 
father  or  mother.  Instinctively  the  child  is  proud  of 
the  parent,  and  if  youth  is  wounded  in  its  tenderest 
point,  its  sense  of  conventionality  —  for  nothing  is  as 
I  conventional  as  adolescence  —  that  natural  instinct  is 
headed  off,  and  of  course  there  is  suffering.  Mrs.  Mait- 
land,  living  in  her  mixture  of  squalor  and  dignity,  had  no 
time  to  consider  such  abstractions.  As  for  there  being 
anything  unwomanly  in  her  occupation,  such  an  idea 
never  entered  her  head.  To  Sarah  Maitland,  no  work 
which  it  was  a  woman's  duty  to  do  could  be  unwomanly;  - 
she  was  incapable  of  consciously  aping  masculinity,  but- 
to  earn  her  living  and  heap  up  a  fortune  for  her  son,  was, 
to  her  way  of  thinking,  just  the  plain  common  sense  of 
duty.  But  more  than  that,  the  heart  in  her  bosom  would 
have  proved  her  sex  to  her;  how  she  loved  to  knit  the 
pink  socks  for  dimpled  little  feet!  how  she  winced  when 
her  son  seemed  to  shrink  from  her;  how  jealous  she  was 
still  of  that  goose  Molly, — who  had  been  another  man's 
wife  for  as  many  years  as  Herbert  Maitland  had  been  in 
his  grave.  But  Blair  saw  none  of  these  things  that  might 
have  told  him  that  his  mother  was  a  very  woman.  In 
stead,  his  conventionality  was  insulted  at  every  turn; 
his  love  of  beauty  was  outraged.  As  a  result  a  wall 
was  slowly  built  between  the  mother  and  son,  a  wall 
whose  foundations  had  been  laid  when  the  little  boy  had 
pointed  his  finger  at  her  and  said  "uggy." 

Mrs.  Maitland  was,  of  course,  perfectly  unconscious  of 
her  son's  hot  misery;  she  was  so  happy  at  having  him  at 
home  again  that  she  could  not  see  that  he  was  unhappy 

53 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

at  being  at  home.  She  was  pathetically  eager  to  please 
him.  Her  theory — if  in  her  absorbed  life  she  could  be 
said  to  have  a  theory — was  that  Blair  should  have 
everything  he  wanted,  so  that  he  should  the  sooner  be 
a  man.  Money,  she  thought,  would  give  him  every 
thing.  She  herself  wanted  nothing  money  could  give, 
except  food  and  shelter ;  the  only  use  she  had  for  money 
was  to  make  more  money;  but  she  realized  that  other 
people,  especially  young  men,  like  the  things  it  would 
buy.  Twice  during  that  particular  vacation,  for  no 
cause  except  to  gratify  herself,  she  gave  her  son  a 
wickedly  large  check;  and  once,  when  Nannie  told  her 
that  he  wanted  to  pay  for  some  painting  lessons,  though 
she  demurred  just  for  a  moment,  she  paid  the  bill  so  that 
his  own  spending-money  should  not  be  diminished. 

"What  on  earth  does  a  man  who  is  going  to  run  an 
Iron  Works  want  with  painting  lessons?"  she  said  to  the 
entreating  sister.  But  even  while  she  made  her  grum 
bling  protest,  she  wrote  a  check. 

As  for  Blair,  he  took  the  money,  as  he  took  everything 
else  that  she  gave  him  of  opportunity  and  happiness,  and 
said,  "Thank  you,  mother;  you  are  awfully  good"; 
but  he  shut  his  eyes  when  he  kissed  her.  He  was  blind 
to  the  love,  the  yearning,  the  outstretched  hands  of 
motherhood, — not  because  he  was  cruel,  or  hard,  or 
mean ;  but  because  he  was  young,  and  delighted  in  beauty. 

Of  course  his  wretchedness  lessened  after  a  fortnight 
or  so — habit  does  much  to  reconcile  us  to  unpleasant 
ness;  besides  that,  his  painting  was  an  interest,  and  his 
voice  began  to  be  a  delight  to  him;  he  used  to  sing  a 
good  deal,  making  Nannie  play  his  accompaniments,  and 
sometimes  his  mother,  working  in  the  dining-room,  would 
pause  a  moment,  with  lifted  head,  and  listen  and  half 
smile — then  fall  to  work  again  furiously. 

But  the  real  solace  to  his  misery  and  irritation  came  to 
him — a  boy  still  in  years — in  the  sudden  realization  of 
Elizabeth! 


CHAPTER  IV 

"I  AM  going  to  have  a  party,"  Blair  told  Nannie;  "  I've 
invited  David  and  Elizabeth,  and  four  fellows;  and  you 
can  ask  four  girls." 

Nannie  quaked.  "Do  you  mean  to  have  them  come 
to  supper?" 

"You  can  call  it  'supper';  I  call  it  dinner." 

"I'm  afraid  Mamma  won't  like  it;  it  will  disturb  the 
table." 

"I'm  not  going  to  have  it  in  that  hole  of  a  dining-room ; 
I'm  going  to  have  it  in  the  parlor.  Harris  says  he  can 
manage  perfectly  well.  We'll  hang  a  curtain  across  the 
arch  and  have  the  table  in  the  back  parlor." 

"  But  Harris  can't  wait  on  us  in  there,  and  on  Mamma 
in  the  dining-room,"  Nannie  objected. 

"We  shall  have  our  dinner  at  seven,  after  Harris  has 
given  mother  her  supper  on  that  beautiful  table  of 
hers." 

•    "But—"  said  Nannie. 

"  "You  tell  her  about  it,"  Blair  coaxed;    "she'll  take 
anything  from  you." 

Nannie  yielded.  Instructed  by  Blair,  she  hinted 
his  purpose  to  Mrs.  Maitland,  who  to  her  surprise  con 
sented  amiably  enough. 

"I've  no  objections.  And  the  back  parlor  is  a  very 
sensible  arrangement.  It  would  be  a  nuisance  to  have 
you  in  here;  I  don't  like  to  have  things  moved.  Now 
clear  out!  Clear  out!  I  must  go  to  work."  A  week 
later  she  issued  her  orders :  "  Mr.  Ferguson,  I'll  be  obliged 
if  you'll  come  to  supper  to-morrow  night.  Blair  has 

55 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

some  kind  of  a  bee  in  his  bonnet  about  having  a  party. 
Of  course  it's  nonsense,  but  I  suppose  that's  to  be  ex 
pected  at  his  age." 

Robert  Ferguson  demurred.  "The  boy  doesn't  want 
me;  he  has  asked  a  dozen  young  people." 

Mrs.  Maitland  lifted  one  eyebrow.  "I  didn't  hear 
about  the  dozen  young  people ;  I  thought  it  was  only  two 
or  three  besides  David  and  Elizabeth ;  however,  I  don't 
mind.  I'll  go  the  whole  hog.  He  can  have  a  dozen,  if 
he  wants  to.  As  for  his  not  wanting  you,  what  has  that 
got  to  do  with  it  ?  I  want  you.  It's  my  house,  and  my 
table;  and  I'll  ask  who  I  please.  I've  asked  Mrs.  Richie," 
she  ended,  and  gave  him  a  quick  look. 

"Well,"  her  superintendent  said,  indifferently,  "I'll 
come;  but  it's  hard  on  Blair."  When  he  went  home 
that  night,  he  summoned  Miss  White.  "  I  hope  you  have 
arranged  to  have  Elizabeth  look  properly  for  Blair's 
party  ?  Don't  let  her  be  vain  about  it,  but  have  her  look 
right."  And  on  the  night  of  the  great  occasion,  just 
before  they  started  for  Mrs.  Mait land's,  he  called  his 
niece  into  his  library,,  and  knocking  off  his  glasses,  looked 
her  over  with  grudging  eyes:  "Don't  get  your  head 
turned,  Elizabeth.  Remember,  it  isn't  fine  feathers 
that  make  fine  birds/'  he  said;  and  never  knew  that  he 
was  proud  of  her! 

Elizabeth,  bubbling  with  laughter,  holding  her  skirt 
out  in  small,  white-gloved  hands,  made  three  dancing 
steps,  dipped  him  a  great  courtesy,  then  ran  to  him,  and 
before  he  knew  it,  caught  him  round  the  neck  and  kissed 
him.  "  You  dear,  darling,  precious  uncle!"  she  said. 

Mr.  Ferguson,  breathless,  put  his  hand  up  to  his  cheek, 
as  if  the  unwonted  touch  had  left  some  soft,  fresh  warmth 
behind  it. 

Elizabeth  did  not  wait  to  see  the  pleased  and 
startled  gesture;  she  gathered  up  her  fluffy  tarlatan 
skirt,  dashed  out  into  the  garden,  through  the  green  gate 
in  the  wall,  and  bursting  into  the  house  next  door,  stood 

56 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

in  the  hall  and  called  up-stairs :  "  David !  Come !  Hurry ! 
Quick!"  She  was  stamping  her  foot  with  excitement. 

David,  who  had  had  a  perspiring  and  angry  quarter  of 
an  hour  with  his  first  white  tie,  came  out  of  his  room  and 
looked  over  the  banisters,  both  hands  at  his  throat. 
' '  Hello !  What  on  earth  is  the  matter  ? ' ' 

"David — see!"  she  said,  and  stood,  quivering  and 
radiant,  all  her  whiteness  billowing  about  her. 

"  See  what  ?"  David  said,  patiently. 

"A  long  dress!" 

"A  what?"  said  David;  then  looking  down  at  her, 
turning  and  twisting  and  preening  herself  in  the  dark  hall 
like  some  shining  white  bird,  he  burst  into  a  shout  of 
laughter. 

Elizabeth's  face  reddened.  "I  don't  see  anything  to 
laugh  at." 

"  You  look  like  a  little  girl  dressed  up!" 

"Little  girl?  I  don't  see  much  'little  girl'  about  it; 
I'm  nearly  sixteen."  She  gathered  her  skirt  over  her 
arm  again,  and  retreated  with  angry  dignity. 

As  for  David,  he  went  back  to  try  a  new  tie;  but  his 
eyes  were  dreamy.  "George!  she's  a  daisy,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

When,  the  day  before,  Mrs.  Richie  had  told  her  son 
that  she  had  been  invited  to  Blair's  party,  he  was  de 
lighted.  David  had  learned  several  things  at  school  be 
sides  his  prayers,  some  of  which  caused  Mrs.  Richie,  like 
most  mothers  of  boys,  to  give  much  time  to  her  prayers. 
But  as  a  result,  perhaps  of  prayers  as  well  as  of 
education,  and  in  spite  of  Mr.  Ferguson's  misgivings  as 
to  the  wisdom  of  trusting  a  boy  to  a  "good  woman,"  he 
was  turning  out  an  honest  young  cub,  of  few  words, 
defective  sense  of  humor,  and  rather  clumsy  manners. 
But  under  his  speechlessness  and  awkwardness,  David 
was  sufficiently  sophisticated  to  be  immensely  proud  of 
his  pretty  mother;  only  a  laborious  sense  of  propriety 
and  the  shyness  of  his  sex  and  years  kept  him  from,  as  he 

57  ' 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

expressed  it,  "blowing  about  her."  He  blew  now,  how 
ever,  a  little,  when  she  said  she  was  going  to  the  party : 
"Blair'll  be  awfully  set  up  to  have  you  come.  You 
know  he's  terribly  mashed  on  you.  He  thinks  you  are 
about  the  best  thing  going.  Materna,  now  you  dress  up 
awfully,  won't  you  ?  I  want  you  to  take  the  shine  out  of 
everybody  else.  I'm  going  to  wear  my  dress  suit,"  he 
encouraged  her.  "Why,  say!"  he  interrupted  himself, 
"that's  funny — Blair  didn't  tell  me  he  had  asked  you." 

"Mrs.  Maitland  asked  me." 

"Mrs.  Maitland!"  David  said,  aghast;  "Materna,  you 
don't  suppose  she's  coming,  do  you?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  hope  so,  considering  she  invited  me." 

"Great  Caesar's  ghost!"  said  David,  thoughtfully;  and 
added,  under  his  breath,  "  I'm  betting  on  his  not  expect 
ing  her.  Poor  Blair!" 

Blair  had  need  of  sympathy.  His  plan  for  a  "dinner " 
had  encountered  difficulties,  and  he  had  had  moments 
of  racking  indecision ;  but  when,  on  the  toss  of  a 
penny,  '  heads  '  declared  for  carrying  the  thing  through, 
he  held  to  his  purpose  with  a  perseverance  that  was 
amusingly  like  his  mother's  large  and  unshakable  ob 
stinacies.  He  had  endless  talks  with  Harris  as  to  food; 
and  with  painstaking  regard  for  artistic  effect  and  as 
far  as  he  understood  it,  for  convention,  he  worked  out 
every  detail  of  service  and  arrangement.  His  first 
effort  was  to  make  the  room  beautiful;  so  the  crim 
son  curtains  were  drawn  across  the  windows,  and  the 
cut  -  glass  chandeliers  in  both  rooms  emerged  glitter 
ing  from  their  brown  paper  -  muslin  bags.  The  table 
was  rather  overloaded  with  large  pieces  of  silver  which 
Blair  had  found  in  the  big  silver-chest  in  the  garret; 
among  them  was  a  huge  center  ornament,  called  in 
those  '  days  an  epergne  —  an  extraordinary  arrange 
ment  of  prickly  silver  leaves  and  red  glass  cups  which 
were  supposed  to  be  flowers.  It  was  black  with  disuse, 
and  Blair  made  Harris  work  over  it  until  the  poor  fellow 

58 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

protested  that  he  had  rubbed  the  skin  off  his  thumb — 
but  the  pointed  leaves  of  the  great  silver  thistle  sparkled 
like  diamonds.  Blair  was  charmingly  considerate  of  old 
Harris  so  long  as  it  required  no  sacrifice  on  his  own  part, 
but  he  did  not  relinquish  a  single  piece  of  silver  because  of 
that  thumb.  With  his  large  allowance,  it  was  easy  to 
put  flowers  everywhere — the  most  expensive  that  the 
season  afforded.  When  he  ordered  them,  he  bought  at 
the  same  time  a  great  bunch  of  orchids  for  Miss  White. 
"I  can't  invite  her,"  he  decided,  reluctantly;  "but  her 
feelings  won't  be  hurt  if  I  send  her  some  flowers."  As 
for  the  menu,  he  charged  the  things  he  wanted  to  his 
mother's  meager  account  at  the  grocery-store.  When 
he  produced  his  list  of  delicacies,  things  unknown  on 
that  office-dining-room  table,  the  amazed  grocer  said 
to  himself,  "Well,  at  last  I  guess  that  trade  is  going  to 
amount  to  something!  Why,  damn  it,"  he  confided 
to  his  bookkeeper  afterward,  "I  been  sendin'  things  up 
to  that  there  house  for  seventeen  years,  and  the  whole 
bill  ain't  amounted  to  shucks.  That  woman  could  buy 
and  sell  me  twenty  times  over.  Twenty  times?  A 
hundred  times !  And  I  give  you  my  word  she  eats  like  a 
day-laborer.  Listen  to  this" — and  he  rattled  off  Blair's 
order.  "She'll  fall  down  dead  when  she  sees  them 
things;  she  don't  even  know  how  to  spell  'em!" 

Blair  had  never  seen  a  table  properly  appointed  for  a 
dinner-party;  but  Harris  had  recollections  of  more 
elaborate  and  elegant  days,  a  recollection,  indeed,  of  one 
occasion  when  he  had  waited  at  a  policemen's  ball;  and  he 
laid  down  the  law  so  dogmatically  that  Blair  assented  to 
every  suggestion.  The  result  was  a  humorous  compound 
of  Harris's  standards  and  Blair's  aspirations;  but  the 
boy,  coming  in  to  look  at  the  table  before  the  arrival 
of  his  guests,  was  perfectly  satisfied. 

"It's  fine,  Harris,  isn't  it?"  he  said.  "Now,  light 
up  all  the  burners  on  both  chandeliers.  Harris,  give  a 
rub  to  that  thistle  leaf,  will  you?  It's  sort  of  dull." 

59 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Harris  looked  at  his  swollen  thumb.  "Aw',  now,  Mr. 
Blair,"  he  began.  "Did  you  hear  what  I  said?"  Blair 
said,  icily — and  the  leaf  was  polished!  Blair  looked 
at  it  critically,  then  laughed  and  tossed  the  old  man  a 
dollar.  "There's  some  sticking-plaster  for  you.  And 
Harris,  look  here:  those  things — the  finger-bowls;  don't 
go  and  get  mixed  up  on  'em,  will'  you  ?  They  come  last." 
Harris  put  his  thumb  in  his  mouth;  "  I  never  seen  dishes 
like  that,"  he  mumbled  doubtfully;  "the  police  didn't 
have  'em." 

"It's  the  fashion,"  Blair  explained;  "Mrs.  Richie  has 
them,  and  I've  seen  them  at  swell  hotels.  Most  people 
don't  eat  in  an  office,"  he  ended,  with  a  curl  of  his  hand 
some  lip. 

It  was  while  he  was  fussing  about,  whistling  or  singing, 
altering  the  angle  of  a  spoon  here  or  the  position  of  a 
wine-glass  there,  that  his  mother  came  in.  She  had  put 
on  her  Sunday  black  silk,  and  she  had  even  added  a  lace 
collar  and  a  shell  cameo  pin ;  she  was  knitting  busily,  the 
ball  of  pink  worsted  tucked  under  one  arm.  There  was  a 
sort  of  grim  amusement,  tempered  by  patience,  in  her 
face.  To  have  supper  at  seven  o'clock,  and  call  it  "din 
ner";  to  load  the  table  with  more  food  than  anybody 
could  eat,  and  much  of  it  stuff  that  didn't  give  the  stom 
ach  any  honest  work  to  do — "like  that  truck,"  she  said, 
pointing  an  amused  knitting-needle  at  the  olives — was 
nonsense.  But  Blair  was  young;  he  would  get  over  his 
foolishness  when  he  got  into  business.  Meantime,  let 
him  be  foolish !  "I  suppose  he  thinks  he's  the  grand  high 
cockalorum!"  she  told  herself,  chuckling.  Aloud  she  said, 
with  rough  jocosity: 

"What  in  the  world  is  the  good  of  all  those  flowers? 
A  supper  table  is  a  place  for  food,  not  fiddle-faddle!" 

Blair  reddened  sharply.  "  There  are  people,"  he  began, 
in  that  voice  of  restrained  irritation  which  is  veiled  by 
sarcastic  politeness — "there  are  people,  my  dear  mother, 
who  think  of  something  else  than  filling  their  stomachs." 

60 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Mrs.  Maitland's  eye  had  left  the  dinner  table,  and  was 
raking  her  son  from  head  to  foot.  He  was  very  hand 
some,  this  sixteen-year-old  boy,  standing  tall  and  grace 
ful  in  his  new  clothes,  which,  indeed,  he  wore  easily,  in 
spite  of  his  excitement  at  their  newness, 

"Well!"  she  said,  sweeping  him  with  a  glance.  Her 
face  glowed;  "I  wish  his  father  could  have  lived  to  see 
him,"  she  thought;  she  put  out  her  hand  and  touched  his 
shoulder.  "Turn  round  here  till  I  look  at  you!  Well, 
well!  I  suppose  you're  enjoying  those  togs  you've  got 
on ?"  Her  voice  was  suddenly  raucous  with  pride;  if  she 
had  known  how,  she  would  have  kissed  him.  Instead 
she  said,  with  loud  cheerfulness:  "Well,  my  son,  which  is 
the  head  of  the  table  ?  Where  am  I  to  sit  ?" 

"Mother!"  Blair  said.  He  turned  quite  white.  He 
went  over  to  the  improvised  serving-table,  and  picked  up 
a  fork  with  a  trembling  hand;  put  it  down  again,  and 
turned  to  look  at  her.  Yes;  she  was  all  dressed  up !  He 
groaned  under  his  breath.  The  tears  actually  stood  in 
his  eyes.  "  I  thought,"  he  said,  and  stopped  to  clear  his 
voice,  "I  didn't  know — " 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  Mrs.  Maitland  asked, 
looking  at  him  over  her  spectacles. 

"I  didn't  suppose  you  would  be  willing  to  come," 
Blair  said,  miserably. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  she  said,  kindly;  "I'll  stick  it  out 
for  an  hour." 

Blair  ground  his  teeth.  Harris,  pulling  on  a  very 
large  pair  of  white  cotton  gloves — thus  did  he  live  up  to 
the  standards  of  the  policemen's  ball — came  shuffling 
across  the  hall,  and  his  aghast  expression  when  he  caught 
sight  of  Mrs.  Maitland  was  a  faint  consolation  to  the 
despairing  boy. 

"Here!  Harris!  have  you  got  places  enough?"  Mrs. 
Maitland  said.  "Blair,  have  you  counted  noses?  Mrs. 
Richie's  coming,  and  Mr.  Ferguson." 

"Mrs.  Richie!"  In  spite  of  his  despair,  Blair  had,  an 

61 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

elated  moment.  He  was  devoted  to  David's  mother, 
and  there  was  some  consolation  in  the  fact  that  she 
would  see  that  he  knew  how  to  do  things  decently! 
Then  his  anger  burst  out.  "I  didn't  ask  Mrs.  Richie," 
he  said,  his  voice  trembling. 

"What  time  is  supper?"  his  mother  interrupted,  "I'm 
getting  hungry!"  She  took  her  place  at  the  head  of  the 
table,  sitting  a  little  sidewise,  with  one  foot  round  the  leg 
of  her  chair;  she  looked  about  impatiently,  striking  the 
table  softly  with  her  open  hand — a  hand  always  beautiful, 
and  to-night  clean. "  "What  nonsense  to  have  it  so  late!" 

"It  isn't  supper,"  Blair  said;  "it's  dinner;  and — " 
But  at  that  moment  the  door-bell  saved  the  situation. 
Harris,  stumbling  with  agitation,  had  retreated  to  his 
pantry,  so  Mrs.  Maitland  motioned  to  Blair.  "Run  and 
open  the  door  for  your  friends,"  she  said,  kindly. 

Blair  did  not  "run,"  but  he  went;  and  if  he  could  have 
killed  those  first-comers  with  a  glance,  he  would  have 
done  so.  As  for  Mrs.  Maitland,  still  glowing  with  this 
new  experience  of  taking  part  in  her  son's  pleasure,  she 
tramped  into  the  front  room  to  say  how  do  you  do  and 
shake  hands  with  two  very  shy  young  men,  who  were 
plainly  awed  by  her  presence.  As  the  others  came  in, 
it  was  she  who  received  them,  standing  on  the  hearth 
rug,  her  back  to  the  empty  fireplace  which  Blair  had  filled 
with  roses,  all  ready  to  welcome  the  timid  youngsters, 
who  in  reply  to  her  loud  greetings  stammered  the  com 
monplaces  of  the  occasion. 

"How  are  you,  Elizabeth?  What!  a  long  dress? 
Well,  well,  you  are  getting  to  be  a  big  girl !  How  are  you, 
David?  And  so  you  have  a  swallowtail,  too?  Glad  to 
see  you,  Mrs.  Richie.  Who's  this  ?  Harry  Knight  ?  Well, 
Harry,  you  are  quite  a  big  boy.  I  knew  your  stepmother 
when  she  was  Molly  Wharton,  and  not  half  your  age." 

Harry,  who  had  a  sense  of  humor,  was  able  to  laugh ; 
but  David  was  red  with  wrath,  and  Elizabeth  tossed  her 
head.  As  for  Blair,  he  grew  paler  and  paler. 

62 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Yet  the  dreadful  dinner  went  off  fairly  smoothly. 
Mrs.  Maitland  sat  down  before  anybody  else.  "Come, 
good  people,  come!"  she  said,  and  began  her  rapid  "  Bless, 
O  Lord,"  while  the  rest  of  the  company  were  still  draw 
ing  up  their  chairs.  "Amen,  soup,  Mrs.  Richie?"  she 
said,  heartily.  The  ladling  out  of  the  soup  was  an  outlet 
for  her  energy;  and  as  Harris's  ideals  put  all  the  dishes  on 
the  table  at  once,  she  was  kept  busy  carving  or  helping, 
or,  with  the  hospitable  insistence  of  her  generation,  urg 
ing  her  guests  to  eat.  Blair  sat  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table  in  black  silence.  Once  he  looked, at  Mrs.  Richie 
with  an  agonized  gratitude  in  his  beautiful  eyes,  like 
the  gratitude  of  a  hurt  puppy  lapping  a  friendly  and 
helping  hand;  for  Mrs.  Richie,  with  the  gentlest  tact, 
tried  to  help  him  by  ignoring  him  and  talking  to  the 
young  people  about  her.  Elizabeth,  too,  endeavored  to 
do  her  part  by  assuming  (with  furtive  glances  at  David) 
a  languid,  young-lady-like  manner,  which  would  have 
made  Blair  chuckle  at  any  less  terrible  moment.  Even 
Mr.  Ferguson,  although  still  a  little  dazed  by  that  encoun 
ter  with  his  niece,  came  to  the  rescue — for  the  situation 
was,  of  course,  patent — and  talked  to  Mrs.  Maitland; 
which,  poor  Blair  thought,  "at  least  shut  her  up" ! 

Mrs.  Maitland  was,  of  course  perfectly  unconscious 
that  any  one  could  wish  to  shut  her  up ;  she  did  not  feel 
anything  unusual  in  the  atmosphere,  and  she  was  aston 
ishingly  patient  with  all  the  stuff  and  nonsense.  Once 
she  did  strike  the  call-bell,  which  she  had  bidden  Harris 
to  bring  from  the  office  table,  and  say,  loudly:  "Make 
haste,  Harris!  Make  haste!  What  is  all  this  delay?" 
The  delay  was  Harris's  agitated  endeavor  to  refresh  his 
memory  about  "them  basins." 

"Is  it  now?"  he  whispered  to  Blair,  furtively  rubbing 
his  thumb  on  the  shiny  seam  of  his  trousers.  Blair,  look 
ing  a  little  sick,  whispered  back ; 

"Oh,  throw  'em  out  of  the  window." 

"Aw',   now,   Mr.    Blair,"   poor   Harris  protested,   "I 

5  63 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

clean  forgot;  is  it  with  these  here  tomatoes,  or  with  the 
dessert?" 

"Go  to  the  devil!"  Blair  said,  under  his  breath.  And 
the  finger-bowls  appeared  with  the  salad. 

"What's  this  nonsense?"  Mrs.  Maitland  demanded; 
then,  realizing  Blair's  effort,  she  picked  up  a  finger-bowl 
and  looked  at  it,  cocking  an  amused  eyebrow.  "Well, 
Blair,"  she  said,  with  loud  good  nature,  "we  are  putting 
on  airs!" 

Blair  pretended  not  to  hear.  For  the  whole  of  that 
appalling  experience  he  had  nothing  to  say — even  to 
Elizabeth,  sitting  beside  him  in  the  new  white  dress,  the 
spun  silk  of  her  brown  hair  shimmering  in  the  amaz 
ing  glitter  of  the  great  cut-glass  chandelier.  The  other 
young  people,  glancing  with  alarmed  eyes  now  at  Blair, 
and  now  at  his  mother,  followed  their  host's  example  of 
silence.  Mrs.  Maitland,  however,  did  her  duty  as  she 
saw  it;  she  asked  condescending  questions  as  to  "how 
you  children  amuse  yourselves,"  and  she  made  her  crude 
jokes  at  everybody's  expense,  with  side  remarks  to 
Robert  Ferguson  about  their  families:  "That  Knight 
boy  is  Molly  Wharton's  stepson;  he  looks  like  his  father. 
Old  Knight  is  an  elder  in  The  First  Church;  he  hands 
round  the  hat  for  other  people  to  put  their  money  in — 
never  gives  anything  himself.  I  always  call  his  wife 
'goose  Molly/  ...  Is  that  young  Clayton,  Tom  Clayton's 
son  ?  He  looks  as  if  he  had  some  gumption ;  Tom  was 
always  Mr.  Doestick's  friend.  ...  I  suppose  you  know 
that  that  West  boy's  grandmother  wasn't  sure  who  his 
grandfather  was?  .  .  .  Mrs.  Richie's  a  pretty  woman, 
Friend  Ferguson;  where  are  your  eyes!"  .  .  . 

When  it  was  over,  that  terrible  thirty  minutes — for 
Mrs.  Maitland  drove  Harris  at  full  speed  through  all 
Blair's  elaborations — it  was  Mrs.  Richie  who  came  to  the 
rescue. 

"Mrs.  Maitland,"  she  said,  "sha'n't  you  and  I  and  Mr. 
Ferguson  go  and  talk  in  your  room,  and  leave  the  young 

64 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

people  to  amuse  themselves?"  And  Mrs.  Maitland's 
quick  agreement  showed  how  relieved  she  was  to  get 
through  with  all  the  "nonsense." 

When  their  elders  had  left  them,  the  "young  people" 
drew  a  long  breath  and  looked  at  one  another.  Nannie, 
almost  in  tears,  tried  to  make  some  whispered  explana 
tion  to  Blair,  but  he  turned  his  back  on  her.  David, 
with  a  carefully  blase'  air,  said,  "  Bully  dinner,  old  man." 
Blair  gave  him  a  look,  and  David  subsided.  When  the 
guests  began  a  chatter  of  relief,  Blair  still  stood  apart 
in  burning  silence.  He  wished  he  need  never  see  or 
speak  to  any  of  them  again.  He  hated  them  all;  he 
hated —  But  he  did  not  finish  this,  even  in  his  thoughts. 

When  the  others  had  recovered  their  spirits,  and 
Nannie  had  begun  to  play  on  the  piano,  and  some 
body  had  suggested  that  they  should  all  sing — "And 
then  let's  dance!"  cried  Elizabeth — Blair  disappeared. 
Out  in  the  hall,  standing  with  clenched  hands  in  the  dim 
light,  he  said  to  himself  he  wished  they  would  all  clear 
out!  "I  am  sick  of  the  whole  darned  business;  I  wish 
they'd  clear  out!" 

It  was  there  that  Elizabeth  found  him.  She  had  for 
gotten  her  displeasure  at  David,  and  was  wildly  happy; 
but  she  had  missed  Blair,  and  had  come,  in  a  dancing 
whirl  of  excitement, to  find  him.  "What  are  you  doing? 
Come  right  back  to  the  parlor!" 

Blair,  turning,  saw  the  smooth  cheek,  pink  as  the 
curve  of  a  shell,  the  soft  hair's  bronze  sheen,  the  amber 
darkness  of  the  happy  eyes.  "Oh,  Elizabeth!"  he  said, 
and  actually  sobbed. 

' '  Blair !     What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"It  was  disgusting,  the  whole  thing." 

"What  was  disgusting?" 

"  That  awful  dinner— " 

"Awful?  You  are  perfectly  crazy!  It  was  lovely! 
What  are  you  talking  about?"  In  her  dismayed  de 
fense  of  her  first  social  function,  she  put  her  hands 

6s 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

on  his  arm  and  shook  it.  "Why!  It  is  the  first  din 
ner  I  ever  went  to  in  all  my  life;  and  look:  six- 
button  gloves !  What  do  you  think  of  that  ?  Uncle  told 
Cherry-pie  I  could  have  whatever  was  proper,  and  I  got 
these  lovely  gloves.  They  are  awfully  fashionable !"  She 
pulled  one  glove  up,  not  only  to  get  its  utmost  length, 
but  also  to  cover  that  scar  which  her  fierce  little  teeth 
had  made  so  long  ago.  "Oh,  Blair,  it  really  was  a 
perfectly  beautiful  dinner,"  she  said,  earnestly. 

She  was  so  close  to  him  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  color 
on  her  cheek  burned  against  his,  and  he  could  smell  the 
rose  in  her  brown  hair.  "Oh,  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  pant 
ing,  "  you  are  an  angel !" 

"It  was  simply  lovely!"  she  declared.  In  her  excite 
ment  she  did  not  notice  that  new  word.  Blair  trembled; 
he  could  not  speak.  "Come  right  straight  back!" 
Elizabeth  said;  "please!  Everybody  will  have  a  per 
fectly  splendid  time,  if  you'll  just  come  back.  We  want 
you  to  sing.  Please!"  The  long,  sweet  corners  of  her 
eyes  implored  him. 

"Elizabeth,"  Blair  whispered,  "I — I  love  you." 

Elizabeth  caught  her  breath ;  then  the  exquisite  color 
streamed  over  her  face.  "Oh!"  she  said  faintly,  and 
swerved  away  from  him.  Blair  came  a  step  nearer. 
They  were  both  silent.  Elizabeth  put  her  hand  over  her 
lips,  and  stared  at  him  with  half -frightened  eyes.  Then 
Blair: 

"Do  you  care,  a  little,  Elizabeth?" 

"We  must  go  back  to  the  parlor,"  she  said,  breathing 
quickly. 

"Elizabeth,  do  you?" 

"Oh— Blair!" 

"Please,  Elizabeth,"  Blair  said;  and  putting  his 
arms  round  her  very  gently,  he  kissed  her  cheek. 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him  speechlessly;  then,  with  a 
lovely  movement,  came  nestling  against  him.  A  minute 
later  they  drew  apart;  the  girl's  face  was  quivering  with 

66 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

light  and  mystery,  the  young  man's  face  was  amazed. 
Then  amazement  changed  to  triumph,  and  triumph  to 
power,  and  power  to  something  else,  something  that 
made  Elizabeth  shrink  and  utter  a  little  cry.  In  an 
instant  he  caught  her  violently  to  him  and  kissed  her — 
kissed  the  scar  on  her  upraised,  fending  arm,  then  her 
neck,  her  eyes,  her  mouth,  holding  her  so  that  she  cried 
out  and  struggled;  and  as  he  let  her  go,  she  burst  out 
crying.  "Oh — oh — oh — "  she  said;  and  darting  from 
him,  ran  up  -  stairs,  stumbling  on  the  unaccustomed 
length  of  her  skit  t  and  catching  at  the  banisters  to  keep 
from  falling.  But  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  paused; 
the  tears  had  burned  off  in  flashing  excitement.  She 
hesitated ;  it  seemed  as  if  she  would  turn  and  come  back 
to  him.  But  when  he  made  a  motion  to  bound  up  after 
her,  she  smiled  and  fled,  and  he  heard  the  door  of  Nan 
nie's  room  bang  and  the  key  turn  in  the  lock. 

Blair  Maitland  stood  looking  after  her;  in  that  one  hot 
instant  boyishness  had  been  swept  out  of  his  face. 


CHAPTER  V 

"THEY  have  all  suddenly  grown  up!"  Mrs.  Richie  said, 
disconsolately.  She  had  left  the  "party"  early,  without 
waiting  for  her  carriage,  because  Mrs.  Maitland's  impa 
tient  glances  at  her  desk  had  been  an  unmistakable 
dismissal. 

"  I  will  walk  home  with  you,"  Robert  Ferguson  said. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  wait  for  Elizabeth?" 

"  David  will  bring  her  home." 

"  He'll  be  only  too  glad  of  the  chance;  how  pretty  she 
was  to-night!  You  must  have  been  very  proud  of  her." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  Beauty  isn't  a  thing  to  be  proud  of. 
Quite  the  contrary." 

Mrs.  Richie  laughed:  "You  are  hopeless,  Mr.  Fergu 
son!  What  is  a  girl  for,  if  not  to  be  sweet  and  pretty 
and  charming  ?  And  Elizabeth  is  all  three." 

"I  would  rather  have  her  good." 

" But  prettiness  doesn't  interfere  with  goodness!  And 
Elizabeth  is  a  dear,  good  child." 

"I  hope  she  is,"  he  said 

"You  know  she  is,"  she  declared. 

"Well,  she  has  her  good  points,"  he  admitted;  and  put 
his  hand  up  to  his  lean  cheek  as  if  he  still  felt  the  flower- 
like  touch  of  Elizabeth's  lips. 

" But  they  have  all  grown  up,"  Mrs.  Richie  said.  "Mr. 
Ferguson,  David  wants  to  smoke!  What  shall  I  do?" 

"Good  heavens!  hasn't  he  smoked  by  this  time?"  said 
Robert  Ferguson,  horrified.  "You'll  ruin  that  boy 
yet!" 

"Oh,  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  there  was  one  awful 

68 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

day,  when — "  Mrs.  Richie  shuddered  at  the  remem 
brance;  "but  now  he  wants  to  really  smoke,  you  know." 

"He's  seventeen,"  Mr.  Ferguson  said,  severely,  "I 
should  think  you  might  cut  the  apron-strings  by  this 
time." 

"You  seem  very  anxious  about  apron-strings  for 
David,"  she  retorted  with  some  spirit.  "I  notice  you 
never  show  any  anxiety  about  Blair." 

At  which  her  landlord  laughed  loudly:  "I  should 
say  not!  He's  been  brought  up  by  a  man — practically." 
Then  he  added  with  some  generosity,  "But  I'm  not  sure 
that  an  apron-string  or  two  might  not  have  been  a  good 
thing  for  Blair." 

Mrs.  Richie  accepted  the  amend  good-naturedly.  "  My 
tall  David  is  very  nice,  even  if  he  does  want  to  smoke. 
But  I've  lost  my  boy." 

"He'll  be  a  boy,"  Robert  Ferguson  said,  "until  he 
makes  an  ass  of  himself  by  falling  in  love.  Then,  in  one 
minute,  he'll  turn  into  a  man.  I — "  he  paused,  and 
laughed :  "I  was  twenty,  just  out  of  college,  when  I  made 
an  ass  of  myself  over  a  girl  who  was  as  vain  as  a  peacock. 
Well,  she  was  beautiful;  I  admit  that." 

"  You  were  very  young,"  Mrs.  Richie  said  gravely; 
the  emotion  behind  his  careless  words  was  obvious. 
They  walked  along  in  silence  for  several  minutes.  Then 
he  said,  contemptuously: 

"She  threw  me  over.     Good  riddance,  of  course." 

"  If  she  was  capable  of  treating  you  badly,  of  course  it 
was  well  to  have  her  do  so — in  time,"  she  agreed;  "but  I 
suppose  those  things  cut  deep  with  a  boy,"  she  added 
gently.  She  had  a  maternal  instinct  to  put  out  a  com 
forting  hand,  and  say  "never  mind."  Poor  man!  be 
cause,  when  he  was  twenty  a  girl  had  jilted  him,  he  was 
still,  at  over  forty,  defending  a  sensitive  heart  by  an 
armor  of  surliness.  "Won't  you  come  in?"  she  said, 
wh*i«  they  reached  her  door;  she  smiled  at  him,  with  her 
pi  "ant  leaf -brown  eyes, — eyes  which  were  less  sad,  he 

69 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

thought,  than  when  she  first  came  to  Mercer.  ("  Getting 
over  her  husband's  death,  I  suppose,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"Well,  she  has  looked  mournful  longer  than  most 
widows!") 

He  followed  her  into  the  house  silently,  and,  sitting 
down  on  her  little  sofa,  took  a  cigar  out  of  his  pocket. 
He  began  to  bite  off  the  end  absently,  then  remembered 
to  say,  "May  I  smoke?" 

The  room  was  cool  and  full  of  the  fragrance  of  white 
lilies.  Mr.  Ferguson  had  planted  a  whole  row  of  lilies 
against  the  southern  wall  of  Mrs.  Richie's  garden.  "  Such 
things  are  attractive  to  tenants;  I  find  it  improves  my 
property,"  he  had  explained  to  her,  when  she  found  him 
grubbing,  unasked,  in  her  back  yard.  He  looked  now, 
approvingly  at  the  jug  of  lilies  that  had  replaced  the  grate 
in  the  fireplace;  but  Mrs.  Richie  looked  at  the  clock. 
She  was  tired,  and  sometimes  her  good  neighbor  stayed 
very  late. 

"Poor  Blair!"  she  said.  "I'm  afraid  his  dinner  was 
rather  a  disappointment.  What  charming  manners  he 
has,"  she  added,  meditatively;  "I  think  it  is  very  re 
markable,  considering — " 

Mr.  Ferguson  knocked  off  his  glasses.  "Mrs.  Mait- 
land's  manners  may  not  be  as — as  fine-ladyish  as  some 
people's,  I  grant  you,"  he  said,  "but  I  can  tell  you,  she 
•has  more  brains  in  her  little  finger  than — ' ' 

"Than  I  have  in  my  whole  body?"  Mrs.  Richie  inter 
rupted  gaily;  "  I  know  just  what  you  were  going  to  say." 

"No,  I  wasn't,"  he  defended  himself;  but  he  laughed 
and  stopped  barking. 

"It  is  what  you  thought,"  she  said;  "but  let  me  tell 
you,  I  admire  Mrs.  Maitland  just  as  much  as  you  do." 

"No,  you  don't,  because  you  can't,"  he  said  crossly; 
but  he  smiled.  He  could  not  help  forgiving  Mrs. 
Richie,  even  when  she  did  not  seem  to  appreciate  Mrs. 
Maitland — the  one  subject  on  which  the  two  neigh". v  rs 
fell  out.  But  after  the  smile  he  sighed,  and  appar  !y 

70 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

forgot  Mrs.  Maitland.  He  scratched  a  match,  held  it 
absently  until  it  scorched  his  fingers;  blew  it  out,  and 
tossed  it  into  the  lilies;  Mrs.  Richie  winced,  but  Mr. 
Ferguson  did  not  notice  her;  he  leaned  forward,  his 
hands  between  his  knees,  the  unlighted  cigar  in  his  fingers: 
"Yes;  she  threw  me  over." 

For  a  wild  moment  Mrs.  Richie  thought  he  meant  Mrs. 
Maitland;  then  she  remembered.  "  It  was  very  hard  for 
you,"  she  said  vaguely. 

"  And  Elizabeth's  mother,"  he  went  on,  "my  brother 
Arthur's  wife,  left  him.  He  never  got  over  the  despair  of 
it.  He— killed  himself." 

Mrs.  Richie's  vagueness  was  all  gone.  "Mr.  Fer 
guson!"  * 

"She  was  bad — all  through." 

"Oh,  no!"  Helena  Richie  said  faintly. 

"She  left  him,  for  another  man.  Just  as  the  girl  I 
believed  in  left  me.  I  would  have  doubted  my  God,  Mrs. 
Richie,  before  I  could  have  doubted  that  girl.  And  when 
she  jilted  me,  I  suppose  I  did  doubt  Him  for  a  while.  At 
any  rate,  I  doubted  everybody  else.  I  do  still,  more  or 
less." 

Mrs.  Richie  was  silent. 

"We  two  brothers — the  same  thing  happened  to  both 
of  us!  It  was  worse  for  him  than  for  me;  I  escaped,  as 
you  might  say,  and  I  learned  a  valuable  lesson;  I  have 
never  built  on  anybody.  Life  doesn't  play  the  same 
trick  on  me  twice.  But  Arthur  was  different.  He  was 
of  softer  stuff.  You'd  have  liked  my  brother  Arthur. 
Yes;  he  was  too  good  to  her — that  was  the  trouble.  If 
he  had  beaten  her  once  or  twice,  I  don't  believe  she  would 
have  behaved  as  she  did.  Imagine  leaving  a  good  hus 
band,  a  devoted  husband — " 

"What  I  can't  imagine,"  Helena  Richie  said,  in  a  low 
voice,  "is  leaving  a  living  child.  That  seems  to  me 
impossible." 

"The  man  married  her  after  Arthur — died,"  he  went 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

on;  "I  guess  she  paid  the  piper  in  her  life  with  him! 
I  hope  she  did.  Oh,  well;  she's  dead  now;  I  mustn't 
talk  about  her.  But  Elizabeth  has  her  blood  in  her; 
and  she  is  pretty,  just  as  she  was.  She  looks  like 
her,  sometimes.  There  —  now  you  know.  Now  you 
understand  why  I  worry  so  about  her.  I  used  to 
wish  she  would  die  before  she  grew  up,  I  tried  to 
do  my  duty  to  her,  but  I  hoped  she  would  die.  Yet 
she  seems  to  be  a  good  little  thing.  Yes,  I'm  pretty 
sure  she  is  a  good  little  thing.  To-night,  before  we  went 
to  the  dinner,  she — she  behaved  very  prettily.  But  if  I 
saw  her  mother  in  her,  I  would — God  knows  what  I  would 
do !  But  except  for  this  fussing  about  clothes,  she  seems 
all  right.  You  know  she  wanted  a  locket  once?  But 
you  think  that  is  only  natural  to  a  girl?  Not  a  vanity 
that  I  need  to  be  anxious  about  ?  Her  mother  was  vain 
— a  shallow,  selfish  theatrical  creature!"  He  looked  at 
her  with  worried  eyes.  "  I  am  dreadfully  anxious,  some 
times,"  he  said  simply. 

"There's  nothing  to  be  anxious  about,"  she  said,  in  a 
smothered  voice,  "nothing  at  all." 

"Of  course  I'm  fond  of  her,"  he  confessed,  "but  I  am 
never  sure  of  her." 

"  You  ought  to  be  sure  of  her, "  Mrs.  Richie  said;  "her 
little  vanities — why,  it  is  just  natural  for  a  girl  to  want 
pretty  dresses!  But  to  think —  Poor  little  Elizabeth!" 
She  hid  her  face  in  her  hands;  "and  poor  bad  mother," 
she  said,  in  a  whisper. 

"Don't  pity  her!  She  was  not  the  one  to  pity.  It 
was  Arthur  who — "  He  left  the  sentence  unfinished; 
his  face  quivered. 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  " you  are  all  wrong.  She  is  the  one  to 
pity,  I  don't  care  how  selfish  and  shallow  she  was !  As 
for  your  brother,  he  just  died.  What  was  dying,  com 
pared  to  living?  Oh,  you  don't  understand.  Poor  bad 
women!  You  might  at  least  be  sorry  for  them.  How 
can  you  be  so  hard  ?" 

72 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I  suppose  I  am  hard,"  he  said,  half  wonderingly,  but 
very  meekly;  "  when  a  good  woman  can  pity  Dora — that 
was  her  name;  who  am  I  to  judge  her  ?  I'll  try  not  to  be 
so  hard,"  he  promised. 

He  had  risen.  Mrs.  Richie  tried  to  speak,  but  stopped 
and  caught  her  breath  at  the  bang  of  the  front  door. 

"It's  David!"  she  said,  in  a  terrified  voice.  Her  face 
was  very  pale,  so  pale  that  David,  coming  abruptly  into 
the  room,  stood  still  in  his  tracks,  aghast. 

"Why,  Maternal  What's  up?  Mother,  something  is 
the  matter!" 

"  It's  my  fault,  David,"  Robert  Ferguson  said,  abashed. 
"  I  was  telling  your  mother  a — a  sad  story.  Mrs.  Richie, 
I  didn't  realize  it  would  pain  you.  Your  mother  is  a  very 
kind  woman,  David;  she's  been  sympathizing  with  other 
people's  troubles." 

David,  looking  at  him  resentfully,  came  and  stood 
beside  her,  with  an  aggressively  protecting  manner.  "I 
don't  see  why  she  need  bother  about  other  people's 
troubles.  Say,  Materna,  I — I  wouldn't  feel  badly.  Mr. 
Ferguson,  I — you — "  he  blustered;  he  was  very  much 
perturbed. 

The  fact  was  David  was  not  in  an  amiable  humor; 
Elizabeth  had  been  very  queer  all  the  way  home.  "  High 
and  mighty!"  David  said  to  himself;  treating  him  as  if  he 
were  a  little  boy,  and  she  a  young  lady !  "  And  I'm  seven 
teen — the  idea  of  her  putting  on  such  airs!"  And  now 
here  was  her  uncle  making  his  mother  low-spirited. 
"Materna,  I  wouldn't  bother."  he  comforted  her. 

Mrs.  Richie  put  a  soothing  hand  on  his  arm.  "Never 
mind,"  she  said;  she  was  still  pale.  "Yes,  it  was  a 
sad  story.  But  I  thank  you  for  telling  me,  Mr.  Fer 
guson." 

He  tried  awkwardly  to  apologize  for  having  distressed 
her,  and  then  took  himself  off.  When  he  opened  his  own 
door,  even  before  he  closed  it  again,  he  called  out,  "Miss 
White'" 

73 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Yes,  sir?"  said  the  little  governess,  peering  rabbit- 
like  from  the  parlor. 

"Miss  White,  I've  been  thinking;  I'm  going  to  buy 
Elizabeth  a  piece  of  jewelry;  a  locket,  I  think.  You  can 
tell  her  so.  Mrs.  Richie  says  she's  quite  sure  she  isn't 
really  vain  in  wanting  such  things." 

"  I  have  been  at  my  post,  sir,  since  Elizabeth  was  three 
years  old,"  Miss  White  said  with  spirit,  "and  I  have 
frequently  told  you  that  she  was  not  vain.  I'll  go  and 
tell  her  what  you  say,  immejetly!" 

But  when  Cherry-pie  went  to  carry  the  great  news  she 
found  Elizabeth's  door  locked. 

"What?  Uncle  is  going  to  give  me  a  locket?"  Eliza 
beth  called  out  in  answer  to  her  knock.  "Oh,  joy! 
Splendid!" 

"  Let  me  in,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  he  said,"  Miss  White 
called  back. 

"No!  I  can't!"  cried  the  joyous  young  voice.  "I'm 
busy!" 

She  was  busy;  she  was  holding  a  lamp  above  her  head, 
and  looking  at  herself  in  the  mirror  over  the  mantelpiece. 
Her  hair  was  down,  tumbling  in  a  shining  mass  over  her 
shoulders,  her  eyes  were  like  stars,  her  cheeks  rose-red. 
She  was  turning  her  white  neck  from  side  to  side,  throw 
ing  her  head  backward,  looking  at  herself  through  half- 
shuteyes;  her  mouth  was  scarlet.  "  Blair  is  in  love  with 
me!"  she  said  to  herself.  She  felt  his  last  kiss  still  on 
her  mouth;  she  felt  it  until  it  seemed  as  if  her  lip  bled. 

"David  Richie  needn't  talk  about  'little  girls'  any 
more.  I'm  engaged!"  She  put  the  lamp  down  on  the 
manteipiece,  shook  her  mane  of  hair  back  over  her  bare 
shoulders,  and  then,  her  hands  on  her  hips,  her  short 
petticoat  i  affling  about  her  knees,  she  began  to  dance. 
"  Somebody  is  in  love  with  me ! 

"  '  Oh,  isn't  it  joyful,   joyful,  joyful — •'  " 


BLAIR       IS       IN       LOVE      WITH       ME!1 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHEN  the  company  had  gone, — "  I  thought  they  never 
would  go!"  Nannie  said — she  rushed  at  her  brother. 
"Blair!" 

The  boy  flung  up  his  head  proudly.  "She  told  you, 
did  she?" 

"You're  engaged!"  cried  Nannie,  ecstatically. 

Blair  started.  "Why!"  he  said.  "So  I  am!  I  never 
thought  of  it."  And  when  he  got  his  breath,  the  radiant 
darkness  of  his  eyes  sparkled  into  laughter.  "  Yes,  I'm 
engaged!''  He  put  his  hands  into  his  pockets  and  strut 
ted  the  length  of  the  room,  a  minute  later  he  stopped 
beside  the  piano  and  struck  a  triumphant  chord;  then 
he  sat  down  and  began  to  play  uproariously,  singing  to 
a  crashing  accompaniment: 

"  ' .   .   .   .  lived  a  miner,  a  forty-niner. 
With  his  daughter  Clementine  I 
Oh  my  darling,  oh  my  darling — ' " 

— the  riotous,  beautiful  voice  rang  on,  the  sound  over 
flowing  through  the  long  rooms,  across  the  hall,  even  into 
the  dining-room.  Harris,  wiping  dishes  in  the  pantry, 
stopped,  tea-towel  in  hand,  and  listened;  Sarah  Mait- 
land,  at  her  desk,  lifted  her  head,  and  the  pen  slipped 
from  her  fingers.  Blair,  spinning  around  on  the  piano- 
stool,  caught  his  sister  about  her  waist  in  a  hug  that 
made  her  squeak.  Then  they  both  shrieked  with  laugh 
ter. 

"But  Blair!"  Nannie  said,  getting  her  breath;  "shall 
you  tell  Mamma  to-night  ?" 

75 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Blair's  face  dropped.  "I  guess  I  won't  tell  anybody 
yet,"  he  faltered;  "oh,  that  awful  dinner!" 

As  the  mortification  of  an  hour  ago  surged  back  upon 
him,  he  added  to  the  fear  of  telling  his  mother  a  resent 
ment  that  would  retaliate  by  secrecy.  "I  won't  tell  her 
at  all,"  he  decided;  "and  don't  you,  either." 

"I!"  said  Nannie.  "Well,  I  should  think  not. 
Gracious!" 

But  though  Blair  did  not  tell  his  mother,  he  could  not 
keep  the  great  news  to  himself;  he  saw  David  the  next 
afternoon,  and  overflowed. 

David  took  it  with  a  gasp  of  silence,  as  if  he  had  been 
suddenly  hit  below  the  belt;  then  in  a  low  voice  he  said, 
"You — kissed  her.  Did  she  kiss  you?" 

Blair  nodded.  He  held  his  head  high,  balancing  it  a 
little  from  side  to  side;  his  lips  were  thrust  out,  his  eyes 
shone.  He  was  standing  with  his  feet  well  apart,  his 
hands  deep  in  his  pockets;  he  laughed,  reddening  to 
his  forehead,  but  he  was  not  embarrassed.  For  once 
David's  old  look  of  silent,  friendly  admiration  did  not 
answer  him;  instead  there  was  half-bewildered  dismay. 
David  wanted  to  protest  that  it  wasn't — well,  it  wasn't 
fair.  He  did  not  say  it ;  and  in,  not  saying  it  he  ceased 
to  be  a  boy. 

"I  suppose  it  was  when  you  and  she  went  off  after 
dinner?  You  needn't  have  been  so  darned  quiet  about 
it!  What's  the  good  of  being  so — mum  about  every 
thing?  Why  didn't  you  come  back  and  tell?  You're 
not  ashamed  of  it,  are  you  ?" 

"A  man  doesn't  tell  a  thing  like  that,"  Blair  said  scorn 
fully. 

"Well!'*  David  snorted,  "I  suppose  some  time  you'll 
be  married?" 

Blair  nodded  again.     "  Right  off." 

"Huh!"  said  David;    "your  mother  won't  let  you 
You  are  only  sixteen.     Don't  be  an  ass/' 

"I'll  be  seventeen  next  May." 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Seventeen!  What's  seventeen?  I'm  pretty  near 
eighteen,  and  I  haven't  thought  of  being  married; — at 
least  to  anybody  in  particular." 

"You  couldn't,"  Blair  said  coldly;  "you  haven't  got 
the  cash." 

David  chewed  this  bitter  fact  in  silence;  then  he  said, 
"  I  thought  you  and  Elizabeth  were  kind  of  off  at  dinner. 
You  didn't  talk  to  each  other  at  all.  I  thought  you  were 
both  huffy;  and  instead  of  that — "  David  paused. 

"That  damned  dinner!"  Blair  said,  dropping  his  love- 
affair  for  his  grievance.  Blair's  toga  virilis,  assumed  in 
that  hot  moment  in  the  hall,  was  profanity  of  sorts. 
"  David,  I'm  going  to  clear  out.  I  can't  stand  this  sort  of 
thing.  I'll  go  and  live  at  a  hotel  till  I  go  to  college; 
I'll— " 

"Thought  you  were  going  to  get  married?"  David  in 
terrupted  him  viciously. 

Blair  looked  at  him,  and  suddenly  understood, — David 
was  jealous!  "Gorry!"  he  said  blankly.  He  was  hon 
estly  dismayed.  "  Look  here,"  he  began,  "  I  didn't  know 
thai  you — " 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  David 
broke  in  contemptuously;  "if  you  think  /  care,  one  way 
or  the  other,  you're  mistaken.  It's  nothing  to  me. 
'By  " ;  and  he  turned  on  his  heel. 

It  was  a  hot  July  afternoon ;  the  sun-baked  street  along 
which  they  had  been  walking  was  deep  with  black  dust 
and  full  of  the  clamor  of  traffic.  Four  big  gray  Flemish 
horses,  straining  against  their  breastplates,  were  hauling 
a  dray  loaded  with  clattering  iron  rods;  the  sound, 
familiar  enough  to  any  Mercer  boy,  seemed  to  David  at 
that  moment  intolerable,  "I'll  get  out  of  this  cursed 
noise,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  turned  down  a  narrow 
street  toward  the  river.  It  occurred  to  him  that  he 
would  go  over  the  covered  bridge,  and  maybe  stop  and 
get  a  tumbler  of  ice-cream  at  Mrs.  Todd's.  Then  he 
would  strike  out  into  the  country  and  take  a  walk;  he 

77 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

had  nothing  else  to  do.  This  vacation  business  wasn't 
all  it  was  cracked  up  to  be;  a  man  had  better  fun  at 
school ;  he  was  sick  of  Mercer,  anyhow. 

He  had  reached  Mrs.  Todd's  saloon  by  that  time,  and 
through  the  white  palings  of  the  fence  he  had  glimpses  of 
happy  couples  sitting  at  marble-topped  tables  among  the 
marigolds  and  coreopsis,  taking  slow,  delicious  spoonfuls 
of  ice-cream,  and  gazing  at  each  other  with  languishing 
eyes.  David  felt  a  qualm  of  disgust;,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  had  no  desire  for  ice-cream.  A  boy  like  Blair 
might  find  it  pleasant  to  eat  ice-cream  with  a  lot  of 
fellows  and  girls  out  in  the  garden  of  a  toll-house,  with 
people  looking  in  through  the  palings;  but  he  had  out 
grown  such  things.  The  idea  of  Blair,  at  his  age,  talking 
about  being  in  love !  Blair  didn't  know  what  love  meant. 
And  as  for  Elizabeth,  how  could  she  fall  in  love  with 
Blair?  He  was  two  months  younger  than  she,  to  begin 
with.  "  No  woman  ought  to  marry  a  man  younger  than 
she  is,"  David  said;  he  himself,  he  reflected,  was  much 
older  than  Elizabeth.  That  was  how  it  ought  to  be. 
The  girl  should  always  be  younger  than  the  fellow.  And 
anyway,  Blair  wasn't  the  kind  of  man  for  a  girl  like  Eliza 
beth  to  marry.  "He  wouldn't  understand  her.  Eliza 
beth  goes  off  at  half-cock  sometimes,  and  Blair  wouldn't 
know  how  to  handle  her.  I  understand  her,  perfectly. 
Besides  that,  he's  too  selfish.  A  woman  ought  not  to 
marry  a  selfish  man,"  said  David.  However,  it  made  no 
difference  to  him  whom  she  married.  If  Elizabeth  liked 
that  sort  of  thing,  if  she  found  Blair — who  was  only  a 
baby  anyhow — the  kind  of  rnan  she  could  love,  why 
then  he  was  disappointed  in  Elizabeth.  That  was  all. 
He  was  not  jealous,  or  anything  like  that;  he  was  just 
disappointed ;  he  was  sorry  that  Elizabeth  was  that  kind 
of  girl.  "Very,  very  sorry,"  David  said  to  himself;  and 
his  eyes  stung.  .  .  .  (Ah,  well;  one  may  smile;  but  the 
pangs  are  real  enough  to  the  calf!  The  trouble  with  us  is 
we  have  forgotten  our  own  pangs,  so  we  doubt  his.)  .  .  . 

78 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Yes,  David  was  sorry ;  but  the  whole  darned  business  was 
nothing  to  him,  because,  unlike  Blair,  he  was  not  a  boy, 
and  he  could  not  waste  time  over  women;  he  had  his 
future  to  think  of.  In  fact,  he  felt  that  to  make  the 
most  of  himself  he  must  never  marry. 

Then  suddenly  these  bitter  forecastings  ceased.  He 
had  come  upon  some  boys  who  were  throwing  stones  at 
the  dust-grimed  windows  of  an  unused  foundry  shed. 
Along  the  roof  of  the  big,  gaunt  building,  dilapidated  and 
deserted,  was  a  vast  line  of  lights  that  had  long  been  a 
target  for  every  boy  who  could  pick  up  a  pebble.  Glass 
lay  in  splinters  on  the  slope  of  sheet-iron  below  the  sashes, 
and  one  could  look  in  through  yawning  holes  at  silent, 
shadowy  spaces  that  had  once  roared  with  light  from 
swinging  ladles  and  flowing  cupolas ;  but  there  were  a  few 
whole  panes  left  yet.  At  the  sound  of  crashing  glass, 
David,  being  a  human  boy,  stopped  and  looked  on,  at 
first  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets;  then  he  picked  up  a 
stone  himself.  A  minute  later  he  was  yelling  and  smash 
ing  with  the  rest  of  them;  but  when  he  had  broken  a 
couple  of  lights,  curiously  enough,  desire  failed;  he  felt  a 
sudden  distaste  for  breaking  windows, — and  for  every 
thing  else !  It  was  a  sort  of  spiritual  nausea,  and  life  was 
black  and  bitter  on  his  tongue.  He  was  conscious  of  an 
actual  sinking  below  his  breast-bone.  "I'm  probably 
coming  down  with  brain  fever,"  he  told  himself;  and  he 
had  a  happy  moment  of  thinking  how  wretched  every 
body  would  be  when  he  died.  Elizabeth  would  be  very 
wretched !  David  felt  a  wave  of  comfort,  and  on  the  im 
pulse  of  expected  death,  he  turned  toward  home  again.  . . . 
However,  if  he  should  by  any  chance  recover,  marriage 
was  not  for  him.  It  occurred  to  him  that  this  would  be  a 
bitter  surprise  to  Elizabeth,  whose  engagement  would  of 
course  be  broken  as  soon  as  she  heard  of  his  illness;  and 
again  he  felt  happier.  No,  he  would  never  marry.  He 
would  give  his  life  to  his  profession — it  had  long  ago  been 
decided  that  David  was  to  be  a  doctor.  But  it  would  be 

6  79 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

a  lonely  life.  He  looked  ahead  and  saw  himself  a  great 
physician — no  common  doctor,  like  that  old  Doctor 
King  who  came  sometimes  to  see  his  mother ;  but  a  great 
man,  dying  nobly  in  some  awful  epidemic.  When  Eliz 
abeth  heard  of  his  magnificent  courage,  she'd  feel  pretty 
badly.  Rather  different  from  Blair.  How  much  finer  than 
to  be  merely  looking  forward  to  a  lot  of  money  that  some 
body  else  had  made !  But  perhaps  that  was  why  Eliza 
beth  liked  Blair;  because  he  was  going  to  have  money? 
And  yet,  how  could  she  compare  Blair  with, — well,  any 
fellow  who  meant  to  work  his  own  way  ?  Here  David 
touched  bottom  abruptly.  "How  can  a  fellow  take 
money  he  hasn't  earned?"  he  said  to  himself.  David's 
feeling  about  independence  was  unusual  in  a  boy 
of  his  years,  and  it  was  not  altogether  admirable;  it 
was,  in  fact,  one  of  those  qualities  that  is  a  virtue, 
unless  it  becomes  a  vice. 

When  he  was  half-way  across  the  bridge,  he  stopped  to 
look  down  at  the  slow,  turbid  river  rolling  below  him. 
He  stood  there  a  long  time,  leaning  on  the  hand-rail.  On 
the  dun  surface  a  sheen  of  oil  gathered,  and  spread,  and 
gathered  again.  He  could  hear  the  wash  of  the  current, 
and  in  the  railing  under  his  hand  he  felt  the  old  wooden 
structure  thrill  and  quiver  in  the  constant  surge  of  water 
against  the  pier  below  him.  The  sun,  a  blood-red  disk, 
was  slipping  into  the  deepening  haze,  and  on  either  side  of 
the  river  the  city  was  darkening  into  dusk.  All  along 
the  shore  lights  were  pricking  out  of  the  twilight  and 
sending  wavering  shafts  down  into  the  water.  The  coil 
ing  smoke  from  furnace  chimneys  lay  level  and  almost 
motionless  in  the  still  air;  sometimes  it  was  shot  with 
sparks,  or  showed,  on  its  bellying  black  curves,  red 
gleams  from  hidden  fires  below. 

David,  staring  at  the  river  with  absent,  angry  eyes, 
stopped  his  miserable  thoughts  to  watch  a  steamboat 
coming  down  the  current.     Its  smoke-stacks  were  folded 
back  for  passing  under  the  bridge,  and  its  great  paddle- 
So 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

wheel  scarcely  moved  except  to  get  steerageway.  It 
was  pushing  a  dozen  rafts,  all  lashed  together  into  a 
spreading  sheet.  The  smell  of  the  fresh  planks  pierced 
the  acrid  odor  of  soot  that  was  settling  down  with 
the  night  mists.  On  one  of  the  rafts  was  a  shanty 
of  newly  sawed  pine  boards;  it  had  no  windows,  but 
it  was  evidently  a  home,  for  a  stove  -  pipe  came 
through  its  roof,  and  there  was  a  woman  sitting  in 
its  little  doorway,  nursing  her  baby.  David,  looking 
down,  saw  the  downy  head,  and  a  little  crumpled  fist 
lying  on  the  white,  bare  breast.  The  woman,  looking  up 
as  they  floated  below  him,  caught  his  eye,  and  drew  her 
blue  cotton  dress  across  her  bosom.  David  suddenly 
put  his  hand  over  his  lips  to  hide  their  quiver.  The 
abrupt  tears  were  on  his  cheeks.  "Oh — Elizabeth!"  he 
said.  The  revolt,  the  anger,  the  jealousy,  were  all  gone. 
He  sobbed  under  his  breath.  He  had  forgotten  that  he 
had  said  it  made  no  difference  to  him, — "not  the  slightest 
difference."  It  did  make  a  difference!  All  the  differ 
ence  in  the  world.  .  .  .  "Oh,  Elizabeth!"  .  .  .  The 
barges  had  slid  farther  and  farther  under  the  bridge ;  the 
woman  and  the  child  were  out  of  sight;  the  steamboat 
with  its  folded  smoke-stacks  slid  after  them,  leaving  a 
wake  of  rocking,  yellow  foam;  the  water  splashed  loudly 
against  the  piers.  It  was  nearly  dark  there  on  the  foot 
path,  and  quite  deserted.  David  put  his  head  down  on 
his  arms  on  the  railing  and  stood  motionless  for  a  long 
moment. 

When  he  reached  home,  he  found  his  mother  in  the 
twilight,  in  the  little  garden  behind  the  house.  David, 
standing  behind  her,  said  carelessly,  "I  have  some  news 
for  you,  Materna." 

"  Yes?"  she  said,  absorbed  in  pinching  back  her  lemon 
verbena. 

"Blair  is — is  spoony  over  Elizabeth.  Here,  I'll  snip 
that  thing  for  you." 

Mrs .  Richie  faced  him  in  amazement .  ' '  What !  Why, 

81 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

but  they  are  both  children,  and — "  she  stopped,  and 
looked  at  him.     "  Oh — David!"  she  said. 

And  the  boy,  forgetting  the  spying  windows  of  the 
opposite  houses,  dropped  his  head  on  her  shoulder. 
"  Materna — Materna,"  he  said,  in  a  stifled  voice. 


CHAPTER  VII 

NOBODY  except  David  took  the  childish  love-affair 
very  seriously,  not  even  the  principals — especially  not 
Elizabeth.  .  .  . 

David  did  not  see  her  for  a  day  or  two,  except  out 
of  the  corner  of  his  eye  when,  during  the  new  and 
still  secret  rite  of  shaving — for  David  was  willing  to 
shed  his  blood  to  prove  that  he  was  a  man — he  looked 
out  of  his  bedroom  window  and  saw  her  down  in  the 
garden  helping  her  uncle  feed  his  pigeons.  He  did  not 
want  to  see  her.  He  was  younger  than  his  years,  this 
honest-eyed,  inexpressive  fellow  of  seventeen,  but  for  all 
his  youth  he  was  hard  hit.  He  grew  abruptly  older  that 
first  week;  he  didn't  sleep  well;  he  even  looked  a  little 
pale  under  his  freckles,  and  his  mother  worried  over  his 
appetite.  When  she  asked  him  what  was  the  matter,  he 
said,  listlessly,  "Nothing."  They  were  very  intimate 
friends  these  two,  but  that  moment  on  the  bridge  marked 
the  beginning  of  the  period — known  to  all  mothers  of 
sons — of  the  boy's  temporary  retreat  into  himself.  .  .  . 
When  a  day  or  two  later  David  saw  Elizabeth,  or  rather 
when  she,  picking  a  bunch  of  heliotrope  in  her  garden, 
saw  him  through  the  open  door  in  the  wall,  and  called  to 
him  to  come  "right  over!  as  fast  as  your  legs  can  carry 
you!" — he  was,  she  thought,  "very  queer."  He  came 
in  answer  to  the  summons,  but  he  had  nothing  to 
say.  She,  however,  was  bubbling  over  with  talk.  She 
took  his  hand,  and,  running  with  him  into  the  arbor, 
pulled  him  down  on  the  seat  beside  her. 

"David!  Where  on  earth  have  you  been  all  this 
time?  David,  have  you  heard?" 

83 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"  I  suppose  you  mean — about  you  and  Blair  ?"  he  said. 
He  did  not  look  at  her,  but  he  watched  a  pencil  of  sun 
shine,  piercing  the  leaves  overhead,  faintly  gilding  the 
bunches  of  green  grapes  that  had  a  film  of  soot  on  their 
greenness,  and  then  creeping  down  to  rest  on  the  helio 
trope  in  her  lap. 

"Yes!"  said  Elizabeth.  "Isn't  it  the  most  exciting 
thing  you  ever  heard  ?  David,  I  want  to  show  you  some 
thing."  She  peered  out  through  the  leaves  to  make  sure 
that  they  were  unobserved.  "  It's  a  terrific  secret !"  she 
said,  her  eyes  dancing.  Her  fingers  were  at  her  throat, 
fumbling  with  the  fastening  of  her  dress,  which  caught, 
and  had  to  be  pulled  open  with  a  jerk;  then  she  drew 
half-way  from  her  young  bosom  a  ring  hanging  on  a  black 
silk  thread.  She  bent  forward  a  little,  so  that  he  might 
see  it.  "I  keep  it  down  in  there  so  Cherry-pie  won't 
know,"  she  whispered.  "Look!" 

David  looked — and  looked  away. 

Elizabeth,  with  a  blissful  sigh,  dropped  the  ring  back 
again  into  the  warm  whiteness  of  that  secret  place. 
"Isn't  it  perfectly  lovely?  It's  my  engagement  ring! 
I'm  so  excited!" 

David  was  silent. 

"Why,  David  Richie !     You  don't  care  a  bit !" 

"Why,  yes,  I  do,"  he  said.  He  took  a  grape  from  a 
bunch  beside  him,  rubbed  the  soot  off  on  his  trousers, 
and  ate  it;  then  blinked  wryly.  "Gorry,  that's  sour." 

"You — don't — like — my  engagement!"  Elizabeth  de 
clared  slowly.  Reproachful  tears  stood  in  her  eyes ;  she 
fastened  her  dress  with  indignant  fingers.  "  I  think  you 
are  perfectly  horrid  not  to  be  sympathetic.  It's  very 
important  to  a  girl  to  get  engaged  and  have  a  ring." 

"It's  very  pretty,"  David  managed  to  say. 

"Pretty?  I  should  say  it  was  pretty!  It  cost  fifty 
dollars!  Blair  said  so.  David,  what  on  earth  is  the 
matter!  Don't  you  like  me  being  engaged?" 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,"  he  evaded,  He  shut  his  eyes, 

84 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

which  were  still  watering  from  that  sour  grape,  but  even 
with  closed  eyes  he  saw  again  that  soft  place  where 
Blair's  ring  hung,  warm  and  secret;  the  pain  below  his 
own  breast-bone  was  very  bad  for  a  minute,  and  the  hot 
fragrance  of  the  heliotrope  seemed  overpowering.  He 
swallowed  hard,  then  looked  at  one  of  Mr.  Ferguson's 
pigeons,  walking  almost  into  the  arbor.  The  pigeon 
stopped,  hesitated,  cocked  a  ruby  eye  on  the  two  humans 
on  the  wooden  seat,  and  fluttered  back  into  the  sunny 
garden. 

"Why,  you  mind!"  Elizabeth  said,  aghast. 

"Oh,  it's  nothing  to  me,"  David  managed  to  say; 
"course,  I  don't  care.  Only  I  didn't  know  you  liked 
Blair  so  much;  so  it  was  a — a  surprise,"  he  said  miser 
ably. 

Elizabeth's  consternation  was  beyond  words.  There 
was  a  perceptible  moment  before  she  could  find  any 
thing  to  say.  "Why,  I  never  dreamed  you'd  mind! 
David,  truly,  I  like  you  best  of  any  boy  I  know; — only,  of 
course  now,  being  engaged  to  Blair,  I  have  to  like  him 
best?" 

"  Yes  that's  so,"  David  admitted. 

"Truly,  I  like  you  dreadfully,  David.  If  I'd  supposed 
you'd  mind —  But,  oh,  David,  it's  so  interesting  to  be 
engaged.  I  really  can't  stop.  I'd  have  to  give  him 
back  my  ring!"  she  said  in  an  agonized  voice.  She 
pressed  her  hand  against  her  breast,  and  poor  David's 
eyes  followed  the  ardent  gesture. 

"  It's  all  right,"  he  said  with  a  gulp. 

Elizabeth  was  ready  to  cry;  she  dropped  her  head  on 
his  shoulder  and  began  to  bemoan  herself.  "Why  on 
earth  didn't  you  say  something?  How  could  I  know? 
How  stupid  you  are,  David!  If  I'd  known  you  minded, 
I'd  just  as  lief  have  been  engaged  to — "  Elizabeth 
stopped  short.  She  sat  up  very  straight,  and  put  her 
hand  to  the  neck  of  her  dress  to  make  sure  it  was  fastened. 
At  that  moment  a  new  sense  was  born  in  her ;  for  the  first 

85 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

time  since  they  had  known  each  other,  her  straightfor 
ward  eyes — the  sexless  eyes  of  a  child — faltered,  and 
refused  to  meet  David's.  "I  think  maybe  Cherry-pie 
wants  me  now,"  she  said  shyly,  and  slipped  away,  leaving 
David  mournfully  eating  green  grapes  in  the  arbor. 
This  was  the  last  time  that  Elizabeth,  uninvited,  put  her 
head  on  a  boy's  shoulder. 

A  week  later  she  confided  to  Miss  White  the  great  fact 
of  her  engagement;  but  she  was  not  so  excited  about  it 
by  that  time.  For  one  thing,  she  had  received  her 
uncle's  present  of  a  locket,  so  the  ring  was  not  her  only 
piece  of  jewelry;  and  besides  that,  since  her  talk  with 
David,  being  ''engaged"  had  seemed  less  interesting. 
However,  Miss  White  felt  it  her  duty  to  drop  a  hint  of 
what  had  happened  to  Mr.  Ferguson:  had  it  struck  him 
that  perhaps  Blair  Maitland  was — was  thinking  about 
Elizabeth  ? 

"  Thinking  what  about  her?"  Mr.  Ferguson  said,  lifting 
his  head  from  his  papers  with  a  fretted  look. 

"Why,"  said  Miss  White,  "as  I  am  always  at  my 
post,  sir,  I  have  opportunities  for  observing;  in  fact,  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  they  were — attached."  Cherry-pie 
would  have  felt  that  a  more  definite  word  was  indelicate. 
"Of  course  I  don't  exactly  know  it,"  said  Miss  White, 
faithful  to  Elizabeth's  confidence,  "but  I  recall  that 
when  I  was  a  young  lady,  young  gentlemen  did  become 
attached — to  other  young  ladies." 

"Love-making?  At  her  age?  I  won't  have  it!"  said 
Robert  Ferguson.  The  old,  apprehensive  look  dark 
ened  in  his  face;  his  feeling  for  the  child  was  so  strangely 
shadowed  by  his  fear  that  "  Life  would  play  another  trick 
on  him,"  and  Elizabeth  would  disappoint  him  some 
way,  that  he  could  not  take  Cherry-pie's  information 
with  any  appreciation  of  its  humor.  "Send  her  to 
me,"  he  said. 

"Mr.  Ferguson,"  poor  old  Miss  White  ventured,  "if  I 
might  suggest,  it  would  be  well  to  be  very  kind,  because — " 

86 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Kind?"  said  Robert  Ferguson,  astonished;  he  gave 
an  angry  thrust  at  the  black  ribbon  of  his  glasses  that 
brought  them  tumbling  from  his  nose.  "Was  I  ever 
unkind  ?  I  will  see  her  in  the  library  after  supper. ' ' 

Miss  White  nibbled  at  him  speechlessly.  "If  he  is 
severe  with  her,  I  don't  know  what  she  won't  do!"  she 
said  to  herself. 

But  Mr.  Ferguson  did  not  mean  to  be  severe.  When 
Elizabeth  presented  herself  in  his  library,  the  interview 
began  calmly  enough.  Her  uncle  was  brief  and  to  the 
point,  but  he  was  not  unkind.  She  and  Blair  were  too 
young  to  be  engaged, — "Don't  think  of  it  again,"  he 
commanded. 

Elizabeth  looked  tearful,  but  she  did  not  resent  his 
dictum; — David's  lack  of  sympathy  had  been  very 
dampening  to  romance.  It  was  just  at  the  end  that  the 
gunpowder  flared. 

"Now,  remember,  I  don't  want  you  to  be  foolish, 
Elizabeth." 

"  I  don't  think  being  in  love  is  foolish,  Uncle." 

"Love!  What  do  you  know  about  love?  You  are 
nothing  but  a  silly  little  girl." 

"I  don't  think  I'm  very  little;  and  Blair  is  in  love 
with  me." 

"  Blair  is  as  young  and  as  foolish  as  you  are.  Even  if 
you  were  older,  I  wouldn't  allow  it.  He  is  selfish  and 
irresponsible,  and — " 

"I  think,"  interrupted  Elizabeth,  "that  you  are  very 
mean  to  abuse  Blair  behind  his  back.  It  isn't  fair." 
Her  uncle  was  perfectly  dumfounded;  then  he  broke 
into  harsh  reproof.  Elizabeth  grew  whiter  and  whiter; 
the  dimple  in  her  cheek  lengthened  into  a  long,  hard  line: 
"  I  wish  I  didn't  live  with  you.  I  wish  my  mother  was 
alive.  She  would  be  good  to  me!" 
,  "Your  mother?"  said  Robert  Ferguson;  his  invol- 
4uitary  grunt  of  cynical  amusement  touched  the  child 
ike  a  whip.  Her  fury  was  appalling.  She  screamed 

87 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

at  him  that  she  hated  him!  She  loved  her  mother! 
She  was  going  to  marry  Blair  the  minute  she  was 
grown  up!  Then  she  whirled  out  of  the  room,  almost 
knocking  over  poor  old  Miss  White,  whose  "post"  had 
been  anxiously  near  the  key -hole. 

Up-stairs,  her  rage  scared  her  governess  nearly  to 
death:  "My  lamb!  You'll  get  overheated,  and  take 
cold.  When  I  was  a  young  lady,  it  was  thought  un 
refined  to  speak  so  —  emphatically.  And  your  dear 
uncle  didn't  mean  to  be  severe;  he — " 

"'Dear  uncle'?"  said  Elizabeth,  "dear  devil!  He 
hurt  my  feelings.  He  made  fun  of  my  mother!"  As 
she  spoke,  she  leaped  at  a  photograph  of  Robert 
Ferguson  which  stood  on  her  bureau,  and,  doubling  her 
hand,  struck  the  thin  glass  with  all  her  force.  It 
splintered,  and  the  blood  spurted  from  her  cut  knuckles 
on  to  her  uncle's  face. 

Miss  White  began  to  cry.  "Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear, 
try  to  control  yourself,  or  you'll  do  something  dreadful 
some  day!"  Cherry-pie's  efforts  to  check  Elizabeth's 
temper  were  like  the  protesting  twitterings  of  a  sparrow 
in  a  thunder-storm.  When  she  reproved  her  now,  the 
furious  little  creature,  wincing  and  trying  to  check  the 
bleeding  with  her  handkerchief,  did  not  even  take  the 
trouble  to  reply.  Later,  of  course,  the  inevitable  moment 
of  penitence  came ;  but  it  was  not  because  she  had  lost  her 
temper;  loss  of  temper  was  always  a  trifling  matter  to 
Elizabeth;  it  was  because  she  had  been  disrespectful  to 
her  uncle's  picture.  That  night,  when  all  the  household 
was  in  bed,  she  slipped  down-stairs,  candle  in  hand,  to  the 
library.  On  the  mantelpiece  was  a  photograph  of  her 
self  ;  she  took  it  out  of  the  frame,  tore  it  into  little  bits, 
stamped  on  it,  grinding  her  heel  down  on  her  own  young 
face;  then  she  took  off  the  locket  Mr.  Ferguson  had  given 
her, — a  most  simple  affair  of  pearls  and  turquoise ;  kissed 
it  with  passion,  and  looked  about  her:  where  should 
it  be  offered  up  ?  The  ashes  in  the  fireplace  ?  No ;  the 

88 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

house-maid  would  find  it  there.  Then  she  had  an  in 
spiration — the  deep  well  of  her  uncle's  battered  old  ink 
stand  !  Oh,  to  blacken  the  pearls,  to  stain  the  heavenly" 
blue  of  the  turquoise !  It  was  almost  too  frightful.  But 
it  was  right.  She  had  hurt  his  feelings  by  saying  she 
wished  she  didn't  have  to  live  with  him,  and  she  had 
insulted  his  dear,  dear,  dear  picture!  So,  with  a  tear 
ful  hiccup,  she  dropped  the  locket  into  the  ink-pot  that 
stood  between  the  feet  of  a  spattered  bronze  Socrates, 
and  watched  it  sink  into  a  black  and  terrible  grave. 
"I'm  glad  not  to  have  it,"  she  said,  and  felt  that  she 
had  squared  matters  with  her  conscience. 

As  for  Robert  Ferguson,  he  did  not  notice  that  the 
photograph  had  disappeared,  nor  did  he  plunge  his  pen 
deep  enough  to  find  a  pearl,  nor  understand  the  signifi 
cance  of  the  bound-up  hand,  but  the  old  wrorry  about  her 
came  back  again.  Her  mother  had  defended  her  own 
wicked  love-affair,  with  all  the  violence  of  a  selfish  wom 
an;  and  in  his  panic  of  apprehension,  poor  little  Eliza 
beth's  defense  of  Blair  seemed  to  be  of  the  same  nature. 
He  was  so  worried  over  it  that  he  was  moved  to  do  a  very 
unwise  thing.  He  would,  he  said  to  himself,  put  Mrs. 
Maitland  on  her  guard  about  this  nonsense  between  the 
two  children. 

The  next  morning  when  he  went  into  her  office  at  the 
Works,  he  found  the  place  humming  with  business.  As 
he  entered  he  met  a  foreman,  just  taking  his  departure 
with,  so  to  speak,  his  tail  between  his  legs.  The  man  was 
scarlet  to  his  forehead  under  the  lash  of  his  employer's 
tongue.  It  had  been  administered  in  the  inner  room; 
but  the  door  was  open  into  the  large  office,  and  as  Mrs. 
Maitland  had  not  seen  fit  to  modulate  her  voice,  the 
clerks  and  some  messenger-boys  and  a  couple  of  travel 
ing-men  had  had  the  benefit  of  it.  Ferguson,  reporting 
at  that  open  door,  was  bidden  curtly  to  come  in  and  sit 
•down.  "I'll  see  you  presently,"  she  said,  and  burst  out 
into  the  large  office. 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Instantly  the  roomful  of  people,  lounging  about  wait 
ing  their  turn,  came  to  attention.  She  rushed  in  among 
them  like  a  gale,  whirling  away  the  straws  and  chaff 
before  her,  and  leaving  only  the  things  that  were  worth 
while.  She  snapped  a  yellow  envelope  from  a  boy's 
hand,  and  even  while  she  was  ripping  it  open  with  a  big 
forefinger,  she  was  reading  the  card  of  an  astonished  trav 
eling-man:  "No,  sir;  no,  sir;  your  bid  was  one-half  of 
one  per  cent,  over  Heintz.  Your  people  been  customers 
so  long  that  they  thought  that  I — ?  I  never  mix  busi 
ness  and  friendship !"  She  stood  still  long  enough  to  run 
her  eye  over  the  drawing  of  a  patent,  and  toss  it  back  to 
the  would-be  inventor.  "No,  I  don't  care  to  take  it  up 
with  you.  Cast  it  for  you?  Certainly.  I'll  cast  any 
thing  for  anybody";  and  the  man  found  his  blue 
print  in  his  hand  before  he  could  begin  his  explanation. 
"What?  Johnson  wants  to  know  where  to  get  the  new 
housing  to  replace  the  one  that  broke  yesterday  ?  Tell 
Johnson  that's  what  I  pay  him  to  decide.  I  have  no 
time  to  do  his  business  for  him — my  own  is  all  I  can 
attend  to!  Mr.  Ferguson!"  she  called  out,  as  she  came 
banging  back  into  the  private  office,  "what  about  that 
ore  that  came  in  yesterday?"  She  sat  down  at  her  desk 
and  listened  intently  to  a  somewhat  intricate  statement 
involving  manufacturing  matters  dependent  upon  the 
quality  of  certain  shipments  of  ore.  Then,  abruptly 
she  gave  her  orders. 

Robert  Ferguson,  making  notes  as  rapidly  as  he  could, 
smiled  with  satisfaction  at  the  power  of  it  all.  It  was  as 
ruthless  and  as  admirable  as  a  force  of  nature.  She 
would  not  pause,  this  woman,  for  flesh  and  blood;  she 
was  as  impersonal  as  one  of  her  own  great  shears  that 
would  bite  off  a  "bloom"  or  a  man's  head  with  equal  pre 
cision,  and  in  doing  so  would  be  fulfilling  the  law  of  its 
being.  Assuredly  she  would  stop  Blair's  puppy-love  in 
short  order! 

Business,  over,  Sarah  Maitland  leaned  back  in  her  chair 

90 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

and  laughed.  "Did  you  hear  me  blowing  Dale  up?  I 
guess  he'll  stay  put  for  a  while  now!  But  I'm  afraid  I 
was  angry,"  she  confessed  sheepishly;  "and  there  is 
nothing  on  earth  so  foolish  as  to  be  angry  at  a  fool." 

"There  is  nothing  on  earth  so  irritating  as  a  fool,"  he 
said. 

"Yes,  but  it's  absurd  to  waste  your  temper  on  'em. 
I  always  say  to  myself,  '  Sarah  Maitland,  if  he  had  your 
brains,  he'd  have  your  job.'  That •  generally  keeps  me 
cool;  but  I'm  afraid  I  shall  never  learn  to  suffer  Mr. 
Doestick's  friends,  gladly.  Read  your  Bible,  and  you'll 
know  where  that  comes  from!  I  tell  you,  friend  Fer 
guson,  you  ought  to  thank  God  every  day  that  you 
weren't  born  a  fool;  and  so  ought  I.  Well  what  can  I 
do  for  you?" 

"I  am  bothered  about  Elizabeth  and  Blair." 

She  looked  at  him  blankly  for  a  moment.  "Eliza 
beth  ?  Blair  ?  What  about  Elizabeth  and  Blair  ?" 

"It  appears,"  Robert  Ferguson  said,  and  shoved  the 
door  shut  with  his  foot,  "it  appears  that  there  has  been 
some  love-making." 

"Love-making?"  she  repeated,  bewildered. 

"Blair  has  been  talking  to  Elizabeth,"  he  explained. 
"  I  believe  they  call  themselves  engaged." 

Mrs.  Maitland  flung  her  head  back  with  a  loud  laugh. 
At  the  shock  of  such  a  sound  in  such  a  place,  one  of  the 
clerks  in  the  other  room  spun  round  on  his  stool,  and 
Mrs.  Maitland,  catching  sight  of  him  through  the  glass 
partition,  broke  the  laugh  off  in  the  middle.  "Well, 
upon  my  word!"  she  said. 

"Of  course  it's  all  nonsense,  but  it  must  be  stopped." 

"  Why  ?"  said  Mrs.  Maitland.  And  her  superintendent 
felt  a  jar  of  astonishment. 

"They  are  children." 

"Blair  is  sixteen,"  his  mother  said  thoughtfully;  "if 
he  thinks  he  is  in  love  with  Elizabeth,  it  will  help  to  make 
a  man  of  him,  Furthermore,  I'd  rather  have  him  make 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

love  than  make  pictures; — that  is  his  last  fancy,"  she 
said,  frowning.  "I  don't  know  how  he  comes  by  it.  Of 
course,  my  husband  did  paint  sometimes,  I  admit;  but 
he  never  wanted  to  make  a  business  of  it.  He  was  no 
fool,  I  can  tell  you,  if  he  did  make  pictures!" 

Robert  Ferguson  said  dryly  that  he  didn't  think  she 
need  worry  about  Blair.  ' '  He  has  neither  industry  nor  hu 
mility,"  he  said,  "and  you  can't  be  an  artist  without  both 
of  'em.  But  as  for  this  love  business,  they  are  children!" 

Mrs.  Maitland  was  not  listening.  "To  be  in  love  will 
be  steadying  him  while  he's  at  college.  If  he  sticks  to 
Elizabeth  till  he  graduates,  I  sha'n't  object." 

"I  shall  object." 

But  she  did  not  notice  his  protest. 

"She  has  more  temper  than  is  quite  comfortable," 
she  ruminated;  "but,  after  all,  to  a  young  man  being 
engaged  is  like  having  a  dog;  one  dog  does  as  well  as 
another;  one  girl  does  as  well  as  another.  And  it  isn't 
as  if  Blair  had  to  consider  whether  his  wife  would  be  a 
'good  manager,'  as  they  say;  he'll  have  enough  to  waste, 
if  he  wants  to.  He'll  have  more  than  he  knows  what  to 
do  with!"  There  was  a  little  proud  bridling  of  her  head. 
She,  who  had  never  wasted  a  cent  in  her  life,  had  made  it 
possible  for  her  boy  to  be  as  wasteful  as  he  pleased. 
"Yes,"  she  said,  with  the  quick  decision  which  was  so 
characteristic  of  her,  "yes,  he  can  have  her." 

"No,  he  can't,"  said  Elizabeth's  uncle. 

"What?"  she  said,  in  frank  surprise. 

"  Blair  jvvill  have  too  much  money.  Inherited  wealth 
is  the  biggest  handicap  a  man  can  have." 

"Too  much  money?"  she  chuckled;  "your  bearings 
are  getting  hot,  ain't  they?  Come,  come!  I'm  not  so 
sure  you  need  thank  God.  How  can  a  man  have  too 
much  money?  That's  nonsense!"  She  banged  her 
hand  down  on  the  call-bell  on  her  desk.  "Evans! 
Bring  me  the  drawings  for  those  channels." 

"  I  tell  you  I  won't  have  it,"  Robert  Ferguson  repeated. 

92 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I  mean  the  blue-prints!"  Mrs.  Maitland  commanded 
loudly;  "you  have  no  sense,  Evans!"  Ferguson  got  up; 
she  had  a  way  of  not  hearing  when  she  was  spoken  to  that 
made  a  man  hot  along  his  backbone.  Robert  Ferguson 
was  hot,  but  he  meant  to  have  the  last  word;  he  paused 
at  the  door  and  looked  back. 

"I  shall  not  allow  it." 

"Good-day,  Mr.  Ferguson,"  said  his  employer,  deep  in 
the  blue-prints. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

ELIZABETH'S  uncle  need  not  have  concerned  himself  so 
seriously  about  the  affairs  of  Elizabeth's  heart.  The 
very  next  day  the  rift  between  the  lovers  began : 

"What  on  earth  have  you  done  to  your  hand?"  asked 
Blair. 

"  I  cut  it.  I  was  angry  at  Uncle,  and  broke  his  picture, 
and—" 

Blair  shouted  with  laughter.  "Oh,  Elizabeth,  what  a 
goose  you  are !  That's  just  the  way  you  used  to  bite  your 
arm  when  you  were  mad.  You  always  did  cut  off  your 
nose  to  spite  your  face !  Where  is  your  locket  ?" 

"None  of  your  business!"  said  Elizabeth  savagely.  It 
was  easy  to  be  savage  with  Blair,  because  David's  lack  of 
interest  in  her  affairs  had  taken  the  zest  out  of  "being 
engaged"  in  the  most  surprising  way.  But  she  had  no 
intention  of  not  being  engaged!  Romance  was  too 
flattering  to  self-love  to  be  relinquished;  nevertheless, 
after  the  first  week  or  two  she  lapsed  easily,  in  moments 
of  forgetfulness,  into  the  old  matter-of-fact  squabbling 
and  the  healthy  unreasonableness  natural  to  lifelong 
acquaintance.  The  only  difference  was  that  now,  when 
she  and  Blair  squabbled,  they  made  up  again  in  new  ways; 
Blair,  with  gusts  of  what  Elizabeth,  annoyed  and  a  little 
disgusted,  called  "silliness";  Elizabeth,  with  strange, 
half -scared,  wholly  joyous  moments  of  conscious  power. 
But  the  "making-up"  was  far  less  personal  than  the 
fallings-out;  these,  at  least,  meant  individual  antag 
onisms,  whereas  the  reconciliations  were  something  larger 
.than  the  girl  and  boy — something  which  bore  them  on 

94 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

its  current  as  a  river  bears  straws  upon  its  breast.  But 
they  played  with  that  mighty  current  as  thoughtlessly  as 
all  young  creatures  play  with  it.  Elizabeth  used  to  take 
her  engagement  ring  from  the  silk  thread  about  her  neck, 
and,  putting  it  on  her  finger,  dance  up  and  down  her 
room,  her  right  hand  on  her  hip,  her  left  stretched  out 
before  her  so  that  she  could  see  the  sparkle  of  the  tiny 
diamond  on  her  third  finger.  "  I'm  engaged!"  she  would 
sing  to  herself. 

*  *  Oh,   isn't  it  joyful,  joyful,  joyful!' 

Blair's  in  love  with  me!"  The  words  were  so  glorious 
that  she  rarely  remembered  to  add,  "I'm  in  love  with 
Blair."  The  fact  was,  Blair  was  merely  a  necessary 
appendage  to  the  joy  of  being  engaged.  When  he  irri 
tated  her  by  what  she  called  "silliness,"  she  was  often 
frankly  disagreeable  to  him. 

As  for  Blair,  he,  too,  had  his  ups  and  downs.  He 
swaggered,  and  threw  his  shoulders  back,  and  cast  ap 
praising  eyes  on  m>men  generally,  and  thought  deeply 
on  marriage.  But  of  Elizabeth  he  thought  very  little. 
Because  she  was  a  girl,  she  bored  him  quite  as  often  as  he 
bored  her.  It  was  because  she  was  a  woman  that  there 
came  those  moments  when  he  offended  her;  and  in  those 
moments  she  had  but  little  personality  to  him.  In  fact, 
their  love-affair,  so  far  as  they  understood  it,  apart  from 
its  elemental  impulses  which  they  did  not  understand, 
was  as  much  of  a  play  to  them  as  the  apple-tree  house 
keeping  had  been. 

So  Mr.  Ferguson  might  have  spared  himself  the  un 
pleasant  interview  with  Blair's  mother.  He  recognized 
this  himself  before  long,  and  was  even  able  to  relax 
into  a  difficult  smile  when  Mrs.  Richie  ventured  a  mild 
pleasantry  on  the  subject.  For  Mrs.  Richie  had  spoken 
to  Blair,  and  understood  the  situation  so  well  that  she 
could  venture  a  pleasantry.  She  had  sounded  him 
one  evening  in  the  darkness  of  her  narrow  garden. 
7  95 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

David  was  not  at  home,  and  Blair  was  glad  of  the  chance 
to  wait  for  him — so  long  as  Mrs.  Richie  let  him  lounge 
on  the  grass  at  her  feet.  His  adoration  of  David's 
mother,  begun  in  his  childhood,  had  strengthened  with 
his  years;  perhaps  because  she  was  all  that  his  own 
mother  was  not. 

"Blair,"  she  said,  "of  course  you  and  I  both  realize 
that  Elizabeth  is  only  a  child,  and  you  are  entirely  too 
wise  to  talk  seriously  about  being  engaged  to  her.  She 
is  far  too  young  for  that  sort  of  thing.  Of  course  you 
understand  that?" 

And  Blair,  feeling  as  though  the  sword  of  manhood 
had  been  laid  on  his  shoulder,  and  instantly  forgetting 
the  smaller  pride  of  being  "engaged,"  said  in  a  very 
mature  voice,  "Oh,  certainly  I  understand." 

If,  in  the  dusk  of  stars  and  fireflies,  with  the  fragrance 
of  white  stocks  blossoming  near  the  stone  bench  that 
circled  the  old  hawthorn-tree  in  the  middle  of  the  gar 
den — if  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Richie  had  demanded 
Elizabeth's  head  upon  a  charger,  Blair  would  have 
rejoiced  to  offer  it.  But  this  serene  and  gentle  woman 
was  far  too  wise  to  wring  any  promise  from  the  boy, 
although,  indeed,  she  had  no  opportunity,  for  at  that 
moment  Mr.  Ferguson  knocked  on  the  green  door  be 
tween  the  two  gardens  and  asked  if  he  might  come  in 
and  smoke  his  cigar  in  his  neighbor's  garden.  "I'll 
smoke  the  aphids  off  your  rose-bushes,"  he  offered. 
"You  are  very  careless  about  your  roses!" 

"A  'bad  tenant'?"  said  Mrs.  Richie,  smiling.  And 
poor  Blair  picked  himself  up,  and  went  sulkily  off. 

But  Mrs.  Richie's  flattering  assumption  that  Blair 
and  she  looked  at  things  in  the  same  way,  and  David's 
apparent  indifference  to  Elizabeth's  emotions,  made 
the  childish  love-affair  wholesomely  commonplace  on 
both  sides.  By  mid-September  it  was  obvious  that  the 
prospect  of  college  was  attractive  to  Blair,  and  that 
the  moment  of  parting  would  not  be  tragic  to  Elizabeth. 

96 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

The  romance  did  not  come  to  a  recognized  end,  how 
ever,  until  a  day  or  two  before  Blair  started  East.  The 
four  friends,  and  Miss  White,  had  gone  out  to  Mrs. 
Todd's,  where  David  had  stood  treat,  and  after  their 
tumblers  of  pink  and  brown  and  white  ice-cream  had 
been  emptied,  and  Mrs.  Todd  had  made  her  usual  joke 
about  "good-looking  couples,"  they  had  taken  two  skiffs 
for  a  slow  drift  down  the  river  to  Willis's. 

When  they  were  rowing  home  again,  the  skiffs  at  first 
kept  abreast,  but  gradually,  in  spite  of  Miss  White's 
desire  to  be  "at  her  post,"  and  David's  entire  willing 
ness  to  hold  back,  Blair  and  Elizabeth  appropriately 
fell  behind,  with  only  a  little  shaggy  dog,  which  Eliza 
beth  had  lately  acquired,  to  play  propriety.  In  the 
yellow  September  afternoon  the  river  ran  placidly  be 
tween  the  hills  and  low -tying  meadows;  here  and 
there,  high  on  a  wooded  hillside,  a  maple  flamed  among 
the  greenness  of  the  walnuts  and  locusts,  or  the 
chestnuts  showed  the  bronze  beginnings  of  autumn. 
Ahead  of  them  the  sunshine  had  melted  into  an  umber 
haze,  which  in  the  direction  of  Mercer  deepened  into  a 
smudge  of  black.  Elizabeth  was  twisting  her  left  hand 
about  to  get  different  lights  on  her  ring,  which  she  had 
managed  to  slip  on  her  ringer  when  Cherry-pie  was  not 
looking.  Blair,  with  absent  eyes,  was  singing  under 
his  breath: 

''Oh!  I  came  to  a  river,  an'   I  couldn't  get  across; 

Sing  "  Polly-wolly-doodle  "   all  the  day  I 
An'  I  jumped  upon  a  nigger,  an'  I  thought  he  was  a  hoss; 
Sing  Polly-wolly — ' 

"Horrid  old  hole,  Mercer,"  he  broke  off,  resting  on 
his  oars  and  letting  the  boat  slip  back  on  the  current. 

"I  like  Mercer!"  Elizabeth  said,  ceasing  to  admire  the 
ring.  "Since  you've  come  home  from  boarding-school 
you  don't  like  anything  but  the  East."  She  began  to 
stroke  her  puppy's  head  violently. 

97 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Blair  was  silent;  he  was  looking  at  a  willow  dipping 
its  swaying  finger-tips  in  the  water. 

"Blair!  why  don't  you  answer  me?" 

Blair,  plainly  bored,  said,  "Well.  I  don't  like  hideous- 
ness  and  dirt." 

"David  likes  Mercer." 

"I  bet  Mrs.  Richie  doesn't,"  Blair  murmured,  and 
began  to  row  lazily. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Richie!"  cried  Elizabeth;  "you  think 
whatever  she  thinks  is  about  perfect." 

"Well,  isn't  it?" 

Elizabeth's  lip  hardened.  "  I  suppose  you  think  she's 
perfect  too?" 

"I  do,"  Blair  said. 

"She  thinks  I'm  dreadful  because,  sometimes,  I — 
get  provoked,"  Elizabeth  said  angrily. 

"Well,  you  are,"  Blair  agreed  calmly. 

"  If  I  am  so  wicked,  I  wonder  you  want  to  be  engaged 
to  me!" 

"Can't  I  like  anybody  but  you?"  Blair  said,  and 
yawned. 

"You  can  like  everybody,  for  all  I  care,"  she  retorted. 
Blair  whistled,  upon  which  Elizabeth  became  absorbed 
in  petting  her  dog,  kissing  him  ardently  between  his 
eyes. 

"I  hate  to  see  a  girl  kiss  a  dog,"  Blair  observed; 

"  '  Sing  Polly- wolly-doo— '  " 

"Don't  look,  then,"  said  Elizabeth,  and  kissed  Bobby 
again. 

Blair  sighed,  and  gave  up  his  song.  Bobby,  obvi 
ously  uncomfortable,  scrambled  out  of  Elizabeth's  lap 
and  began  to  stretch  himself  on  the  uncertain  floor  of 
the  skiff. 

"Lie  down!"  Blair  commanded,  and  poked  the  little 
creature,  not  ungently,  with  his  foot.  Bobby  yelped, 
gave  a  flying  nip  at  his  ankle,  and  retreated  to  the 

98 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

shelter  of  his  mistress's  skirts.  "Confound  that  dog!" 
cried  Blair. 

"  You  are  a  horrid  boy!"  she  said,  consoling  her  puppy 
with  frantic  caresses.  "I'm  glad  he  bit  you!" 

Blair,  rubbing  his  ankle,  said  he'd  like  to  throw  the 
little  wretch  overboard. 

Well,  of  course,  Elizabeth  being  Elizabeth,  the  result 
was  inevitable.  The  next  instant  the  ring  lay  sparkling 
in  the  bottom  of  the  boat.  "I  break  my  engagement! 
Take  your  old  ring!  You  are  a  cruel,  wicked  boy,  and 
I  hate  you — so  there!" 

"I  must  say  I  don't  see  why  you  should  expect  me  to 
enjoy  being  bitten,"  Blair  said  hotly.  "Well,  all  right; 
throw  me  over,  if  you  want  to.  I  shall  never  trust  a 
woman  again  as  long  as  I  live!"  He  began  to  row 
fiercely.  "I  only  hope  that  darned  pup  isn't  going 
mad." 

"I  hope  he  is  going  mad,"  said  Elizabeth,  trembling 
all  over,  "and  I  hope  you'll  go  mad,  too.  Put  me  on 
shore  this  instant!" 

"Considering  the  current,  I  fear  you  will  have  to 
endure  my  society  for  several  instants,"  Blair  said. 

"I'd  rather  be  drowned!"  she  cried  furiously,  and  as 
she  spoke,  even  before  he  could  raise  his  hand  to  stop 
her,  with  Bobby  in  her  arms  she  sprang  lightly  over  the 
side  of  the  boat  into  the  water.  There  was  a  terrific 
splash — but,  alas!  Elizabeth,  in  preferring  death  to 
Blair's  society,  had  not  calculated  upon  the  September 
shallows,  and  even  before  the  horrified  boy  could  drop 
his  oars  and  spring  to  her  assistance,  she  was  on  her 
feet,  standing  knee-deep  in  the  muddy  current. 

The  water  completely  extinguished  the  fires  of  wrath. 
In  the  hubbub  that  followed,  the  ejaculations  and  out 
cries,  Nannie's  tears,  Miss  White's  terrified  scolding, 
Blair's  protestations  to  David  that  it  wasn't  his  fault — 
through  it  all,  Elizabeth,  wading  ashore,  was  silent. 
Only  at  the  landing  of  the  toll-house,  when  poor  dis- 

99 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

tracted  Cherry-pie  bade  the  boys  get  a  carriage,  did 
she  speak: 

"  I  won't  go  in  a  carriage.     I  am  going  to  walk  home." 

"My  lamb!  you'll  take  cold!     You  mustn't!" 

"You  look  like  the  deuce,"  Blair  told  her  anxiously; 
and  David  blurted  out,  "Elizabeth,  you  can't  walk 
home;  you're  a  perfect  object!"  Elizabeth,  through 
the  mud  trickling  over  her  eyes,  flashed  a  look  at  him: 

"That's  why  I'm  going  to  walk!"  And  walk  she 
did — across  the  bridge,  along  the  street,  a  dripping  little 
figure  stared  at  by  passers-by,  and  followed  by  the  faith 
ful  but  embarrassed  four — by  five,  indeed,  for  Blair  had 
fished  Bobby  out  of  the  water,  and  even  stopped,  once  in 
a  while  when  no  one  was  looking,  to  give  the  maker  of  all 
this  trouble  a  furtive  and  apologetic  pat.  At  Eliza 
beth's  door,  in  a  very  scared  frame  of  mind  lest  Mr. 
Ferguson  should  come  out  and  catch  him,  Blair  at 
tempted  to  apologize. 

"Don't  be  silly,"  Elizabeth  said,  muddy  and  shiver 
ing,  but  just;  "it  wasn't  your  fault.  But  we're  not 
engaged  any  more."  And  that  was  the  end  of  the  love- 
story  ! 

Elizabeth  told  Cherry-pie  that  she  had  "broken 
with  Blair  Maitland  forever!"  Miss  White,  when  she 
went  to  make  her  report  of  the  dreadful  event  to  Mr. 
Ferguson,  added  that  she  felt  assured  the  young  peo 
ple  had  got  over  their  foolishness.  Elizabeth's  uncle, 
telling  the  story  of  the  ducking  to  David's  horrified 
mother,  said  that  he  was  greatly  relieved  to  know  that 
Elizabeth  had  come  to  her  senses. 

But  with  all  the  "tellings"  that  buzzed  between  the 
three  households,  nobody  thought  of  telling  Mrs.  Mait 
land.  Why  should  they  ?  Who  would  connect  this  woman 
of  iron  and  toil  and  sweat,  of  noise  and  motion,  with  the 
sentimentalities  of  two  children  ?  She  had  to  find  it  out 
for  herself. 

At  breakfast  on  the  morning  of  the  day  Blair  was  to 

100 


THE    IRON 

start  East,  his  mother,  looking  over  the  top  of  her  news 
paper  at  him,  said  abruptly : 

"Blair,  I  have  something  to  say  to  you  before  you  go. 
Be  at  my  office  at  the  Works  at  ten-fifteen."  She  looked 
at  him  amiably,  then  pushed  back  her  chair.  "  Nannie! 
Got  my  bonnet.  Come!  Hurry!  I'm  late!" 

Nannie,    running,   brought   the   bonnet,    a   bunch   of 
rusty  black  crepe,  with  strings  frayed  with  many  ty-*'. 
ings.     "Oh,  Mamma,"  she  said  softly,  "do  let  me  geU 
you  a  new  bonnet?" 

But  Mrs.  Maitland  was  not  listening.  "Harris!" 
she  called  loudly,  "tell  Watson  to  have  those  roller 
figures  for  me  at  eleven.  And  I  want  the  linen  tracing — 
Bates  will  know  what  I  mean — at  noon  without  fail. 
Nannie,  see  that  there's  boiled  cabbage  for  dinner." 

A  moment  later  the  door  banged  behind  her.  The 
abrupt  silence  was  like  a  blow.  Nannie  and  Harris 
caught  their  breaths;  it  was  as  if  the  oxygen  had  been 
sucked  out  of  the  air;  there  was  a  minute  before  any 
one  breathed  freely.  Then  Blair  flung  up  his  arms  in  a 
wordless  protest;  he  actually  winced  with  pain.  He 
glanced  around  the  unlovely  room;  at  the  table,  with  its 
ledgers  and  clutter  of  unmatched  china — old  Canton, 
and  heavy  white  earthernware,  and  odd  cups  and  saucers 
with  splashing  decorations  which  had  pleased  Harris's 
eye;  at  the  files  of  newspapers  on  the  sideboard,  the 
grimy  walls,  the  untidy  fireplace.  "  Thank  Heaven ! 
I'm  going  off  to-day.  I  wish  I  need  never  come 
back,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  Blair,  that  is  a  dreadful  thing  to  say!" 

"  It  may  be  dreadful,  but  that's  the  way  I  feel.  I 
can't  help  my  feelings,  can  I  ?  The  further  mother  and 
I  are  apart,  the  better  we  love  each  other.  Well!  I 
suppose  I've  got  to  go  and  see  her  bossing  a  lot  of  men, 
instead  of  sitting  at  home,  like  a  lady; — and  I'll  get  a 
dreadful  blowing  up.  Of  course  she  knows  about  the 
engagement  now,  thanks  to  Elizabeth's  craziness." 

101 


THE    IRON^WOMAN 

"  I  don't  believe  she  knows  anything  about  it,"  Nannie 
tried  to  encourage  him. 

"Oh,  you  bet  old  Ferguson  has  told  her,"  Blair  said, 
gloomily.  "Say,  Nannie,  if  Elizabeth  doesn't  look  out 
she'll  get  into  awful  hot  water  one  of  these  days  with 
her  devil  of  a  temper — and  she'll  get  other  people  into  it, 
too,"  he  ended  resentfully.  Blair  hated  hot  water,  as  he 
hated  everything  that  was  unbeautiful.  "Mother  is 
going  to  take  my  head  off,  of  course,"  he  said. 

But  Sarah  Maitland,  entirely  ignorant  of  what  had 
happened,  had  no  such  intention;  she  had  gone  over  to 
her  office  in  a  glow  of  personal  pleasure  that  warmed 
up  the  details  of  business.  She  intended  to  take  Blair 
that  mcraing  through  the  Works, — not  as  he  had  often 
gone  before,  tagging  after  her,  a  frightened  child,  a 
reluctant  boy — but  as  the  prince,  formally  looking  over 
the  kingdom  into  which  he  was  so  soon  to  come !  He  was 
in  love:  therefore  he  would  wish  to  be  married;  there 
fore  he  would  be  impatient  to  get  to  work!  It  was 
all  a  matter  of  logical  and  satisfactory  deduction.  How 
many  times  in  this  hot  summer,  when  very  literally 
she  was  earning  her  son's  bread  by  the  sweat  of  her 
brow,  had  she  looked  at  Elizabeth  and  Blair,  and  found 
enjoyment  in  these  deductions!  Nobody  would. have 
imagined  it,  but  the  big,  ungainly  woman  dreamed! 
Dreamed  of  her  boy,  of  his  business  success,  of  his  love, 
of  his  wife, — and,  who  knows?  perhaps  those  grimy 
pink  baby  socks  began  to  mean  something  more  personal 
than  the  missionary  barrel.  It  was  her  purpose,  on 
this  particular  morning,  to  tell  him,  after  they  had  gone 
through  the  Works,  just  where,  when  he  graduated,  he 
was  to  begin.  Not  at  the  bottom! — that  was  Fergu 
son's  idea.  "He  ought  to  start  at  the  bottom,  if  he  is 
ever  to  get  to  the  top,"  Ferguson  had  barked.  No, 
Blair  need  not  start  at  the  bottom;  he  could  begin 
pretty  well  up  at  the  top;  and  he  should  have  a  salary. 
What  an  incentive  that  would  be!  First  she  would 

102 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

tell  him  that  now,  when  he  was  going  to  college,  she 
meant  to  increase  his  allowance;  then  she  would  tell 
him  about  the  salary  he  would  have  when  he  got  to  work. 
How  happy  he  would  be!  For  a  boy  to  be  in  love,  and 
have  all  the  pocket-money  he  wanted,  and  a  great  busi 
ness  to  look  forward  to ;  to  have  work — work !  the  finest 
thing  in  the  world! — all  ready  to  his  hand, — what  more 
could  a  human  being  desire?  At  the  office,  she  swept 
through  the  morning  business  with  a  speed  that  took 
her  people  off  their  feet.  Once  or  twice  she  glanced  at 
the  clock;  Blair  was  always  unpunctual.  "He'll  get 
that  knocked  out  of  him  when  he  gets  into  business," 
she  thought,  grimly. 

It  was  eleven  before  he  came  loitering  across  the 
Yards.  His  mother,  lifting  her  head  for  a  moment 
from  her  desk,  and  glancing  impatiently  out  of  the  dirt- 
begrimed  office  window,  saw  him  coming,  and  caught 
the  gleam  of  his  patent-leather  shoes  as  he  skirted  a 
puddle  just  outside  the  door.  "Well,  Master  Blair," 
she  said  to  herself,  flinging  down  her  pen,  "you'll  forget 
those  pretty  boots  when  you  get  to  walking  around  your 
Works!" 

Blair,  dawdling  through  the  outer  office,  found  his 
way  to  her  sanctum,  and  sat  down  in  a  chair  beside  her 
desk.  He  glanced  at  her  shrinkingly,  and  looked  away. 
Her  bonnet  was  crookecf;  her  hair  was  hanging  in  wisps 
at  the  back  of  her  neck;  her  short  skirt  showed  the  big, 
broad-soled  foot  twisted  round  the  leg  of  her  chair. 
Blair  saw  the  muddy  sole  of  that  shoe,  and  half  closed 
his  eyes.  Then  remembering  Elizabeth,  he  felt  a  little 
sick;  "shfe's  going  to  row  about  it!"  he  thought,  and 
quailed. 

"You're  late,"  she  said;  then,  without  stopping  for 
his  excuses,  she  proceeded  with  the  business  in  hand. 
"I'm  going  to  increase  your  allowance." 

Blair  sat  up  in  astonishment. 

"I  mean  while  you're  at  college.     After  that  I  shall 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

stop  the  allowance  entirely,  and  you  will  go  to  work. 
You  will  go  on  a  salary,  like  any  other  man."  Her 
mouth  clicked  shut  in  a  tight  line  of  satisfaction. 

The  color  flew  into  Blair's  face.  "Why!"  he  said. 
"You  are  awfully  good,  Mother.  Really,  I — " 

"I  know  all  about  this  business  of  your  engagement 
to  Elizabeth,"  Mrs.  Maitland  broke  in,  "though  you 
didn't  see  fit  to  tell  me  about  it  yourself."  There  was 
something  in  her  voice  that  would  have  betrayed  her 
to  any  other  hearer;  but  Blair,  who  was  sensitive  to 
Mrs.  Richie's  slightest  wish,  and  careful  of  old  Cherry- 
pie's  comfort,  and  generously  thoughtful  even  of  Harris 
—Blair,  absorbed  in  his  own  apprehensions,  heard  no 
pain  in  his  mother's  voice.  "I  know  all  about  it," 
Mrs.  Maitland  went  on.  "I  won't  have  you  call  your 
selves  engaged  until  you  are  out  of  college,  of  course. 
But  I  have  no  objection  to  your  looking  forward  to 
being  engaged,  and  married,  too.  It's  a  good  thing  for 
a  young  man  to  expect  to  be  married;  keeps  him  clean." 

Blair  was  struck  dumb.  Evidently,  though  she  did 
not  know  what  had  happened,  she  did  know  that  he 
had  been  engaged.  Yet  she  was  not  going  to  take 
his  head  off!  Instead  she  was  going  to  increase  his 
allowance  because,  apparently,  she  approved  of  him! 

"So  I  want  to  tell  you,"  she  went  on,  "though  you 
have  not  seen  fit  to  tell  me  anything,  that  I'm  willing 
you  should  marry  Elizabeth,  as  soon  as  you  can  support 
her.  And  you  can  do  that  as  soon  as  you  graduate, 
because,  as  I  say,  when  you  are  in  the  Works,  I  shall 
pay  you" — her  iron  face  lighted — "I  shall  pay  you 
a  salary !  a  good  salary . ' ' 

More  money!  Blair  laughed  with  satisfaction;  the 
prospect  soothed  the  sting  of  Elizabeth's  "meanness" — 
which  was  what  he  called  it,  when  he  did  riot  remember  to 
name  it,  darkly,  "faithlessness."  He  was  so  comforted 
that  he  had,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  an  impulse  to 
confide  in  his  mother;  "Elizabeth  got  provoked  at  me  " 

104 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

— there  was  a  boyish  demand  for  sympathy  in  his  tone; 
"and—" 

But  Mrs.  Maitland  interrupted  him.  "Come  along," 
she  said,  chuckling.  She  got  up,  pulled  her  bonnet 
straight,  and  gave  her  son  a  jocose  thrust  in  the  ribs  that 
made  him  jump.  "I  can't  waste  time  over  lovers' 
quarrels.  Patch  it  up!  patch  it  up!  You  can  afford 
to,  you  know,  before  you  get  married.  You'll  get  your 
innings  later,  my  boy!"  Still  chuckling  at  her  own  joke, 
she  slammed  down  the  top  of  her  desk  and  tramped 
into  the  outer  office. 

Blair  turned  scarlet  with  anger.  The  personal  famil 
iarity  extinguished  his  little  friendly  impulse  to  blurt 
out  his  trouble  with  Elizabeth,  as  completely  as  a  gust 
of  wind  puts  out  a  scarcely  lighted  candle.  He  got  up, 
his  teeth  set,  his  hands  clenched  in  his  pockets,  and 
followed  his  mother  through  the  Yards — vast,  hideous 
wastes,  scorching  in  the  September  heats,  full  of  end 
less  rows  of  pig,  piles  of  scrap,  acres,  it  seemed  to 
Blair,  of  slag.  The  screeching  clamor  of  the  place  reeked 
with  the  smell  of  rust  and  rubbish  and  sour  earth,  and 
the  air  was  vibrant  with  the  clatter  of  the  "buggies" 
on  the  narrow-gauge  tracks  that  ran  in  a  tangled  net 
work  from  one  furnace  to  another,  j  Blair,  trudging 
along  behind  his  mother,  cringing  at  the  ugliness  of 
everything  about  him,  did  not  dare  to  speak;  he  still 
felt  that  dig  in  the  ribs,  and  was  so  angry  he  could  not 
have  controlled  his  voice. 

Mrs.  Maitland  walked  through  her  Iron  Works  as 
some  women  walk  through  a  garden : — lovingly.  She 
talked  to  her  son  rapidly ;  this  was  so  and  so ;  there  was 
such  and  such  a  department;  in  that  new  shed  she 
meant  to  put  the  draftsmen;  over  there  the  time 
keeper; — she  paused.  Blair  had  left  her,  and  was  stand 
ing  in  an  open  doorway  of  the  foundry,  watching,  breath 
lessly,  a  jibcrane  bearing  a  great  ladle  full  of  tons  of 
liquid  metal  that  shimmered  above  its  white-hot  expanse 

105 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

with  the  shifting  blue  flames  of  escaping  gas.  Seething 
and  bubbling,  the  molten  iron  slopped  in  a  flashing  film 
over  the  side  of  the  caldron,  every  drop,  as  it  struck  the 
black  earth,  rebounding  in  a  thousand  exploding  points 
of  fire.  Above  the  swaying  ladle,  far  up  in  the  glooms 
under  the  roof,  the  shadows  were  pierced  by  the  lurching 
dazzle  of  arc-lamps;  but  when  the  ladle  tipped,  and 
with  a  crackling  roar  the  stream  of  metal  flowed  into  a 
mold,  the  sizzling  violet  gleam  of  the  lamps  was  abrupt 
ly  extinguished  by  the  intolerable  glare  of  light. 

"Oh,"   Blair  said  breathlessly,   "how  wonderful!" 

"It  is  wonderful,"  his  mother  said.  "Thomas,  here, 
can  move  the  lever  that  tips  the  ladle  with  his  two  fingers 
— and  out  comes  the  iron  as  neatly  as  cream  out  of  a 
jug!" 

Blair  was  so  entirely  absorbed  in  the  fierce  magnifi 
cence  of  light,  and  in  the  glowing  torsos  of  the  molders, 
planted  as  they  were  against  the  profound  shadows  of 
the  foundry,  that  when  she  said,  "Come  on!"  he  did 
not  hear  her.  Mrs.  Maitland,  standing  with  her  hands 
on  her  hips,  her  feet  well  apart,  held  her  head  high; 
she  was  intensely  gratified  by  his  interest.  "If  his 
father  had  only  lived  to  see  him!"  she  said  to  herself. 
In  her  pride,  she  almost  swaggered;  she  nodded,  chuck 
ling,  to  the  molder  at  her  elbow: 

"  He  takes  to  it  like  a  duck  to  water,  doesn't  he,  Jim?" 
"And,"  said  Jim,  telling  the  story  afterward,  "  I  allowed 
I'd  never  seen  a  young  feller  SL-B  knowing  about  castings 
as  him.  She  took  it  down  straight.  You  can't  pile  it 
on  too  thick  for  a  woman,  about  her  young  'uii." 

"Somebody  ought  to  paint  it,"  Blair  said,  under  his 
breath. 

Mrs.  Maitland's  face  glowed;  she  came  and  stood 
beside  him  a  moment  in  silence,  resting  her  big,  dirty 
hand  on  his  shoulder.  Then  she  said,  half  sheepishly, 
"I  call  thatjadle  the  'cradle  of  civilization/  Think 
what's  inside  of  it!  There  are  rails,  that  will  hold  New 

106 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

York  and  San  Francisco  together,  and  engines  and 
machines  for  the  whole  world ;  there  are  telegraph  wires 
that  will  bring — think  of  all  the  kinds  of  news  they  will 
bring,  Blair, — wars,  and  births  of  babies!  There  are 
bridges  in  it,  and  pens  that  may  write — well,  maybe 
love-letters,"  she  said,  with  sly  and  clumsy  humor,  "or 
even  write,  perhaps,  the  liberty  of  a  race,  as  Lincoln's 
pen  wrote  it.  Yes!"  she  said,  her  face  full  of  luminous 
abstraction,  "the  cradle  of  civilization!" 

He  could  hardly  hear  her  voice  in  the  giant  tumult 
of  exploding  metal  and  the  hammering  and  crashing  in 
the  adjacent  mill;  but  when  she  said  that,  he  looked 
round  at  her  with  the  astonishment  of  one  who  sees  a 
familiar  face  where  he  has  supposed  he  would  see  a 
stranger.  He  forgot  his  shame  in  having  a  mother 
who  ran  an  iron-mill;  he  even  forgot  that  impudent 
thrust  in  the  ribs;  a  spark  of  sympathy  leaped  between 
them  as  real  in  its  invisibility  as  the  white  glitter  of  the 
molten  iron  sputtering  over  their  heads.  "Yes,"  he 
said,  "it's  all  that,  and  it  is  magnificent,  too!" 

"Come  on!"  she  said,  with  a  proud  look.  Over  her 
shoulder  she  flung  back  at  him  figures  and  statistics; 
she  told  him  of  the  tons  of  bridge  materials  on  the  books; 
the  rail  contract  she  had  just  taken  was  a  big  thing, 
very  big!  "We've  never  handled  such  an  order,  but  we 
can  do  it!" 

They  were  walking  rapidly  from  the  foundry  to  the 
furnaces ;  Sarah  Maitland  was  inspecting  piles  of  pig, 
talking  to  puddlers,  all  the  while  bending  and  twisting 
between  her  strong  fingers,  with  their  blackened  nails,  a 
curl  of  borings,  perhaps  biting  on  it,  thoughtfully,  while 
she  considered  some  piece  of  work',  then  blowing  the 
crumbs  of  iron  out  from  between  her  lips  and  bursting 
into  quick  directions  or  fault-finding.  She  stood  among 
her  men,  in  her  short  skirt,  her  gray  hair  straggling  out 
over  her  forehead  from  under  her  shabby  bonnet,  and 
gave  her  orders;  but  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 

107 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

was  self-conscious  —  Blair  was  looking  on!  listening! 
thinking,  no  doubt,  that  one  of  these  days  he  would  be 
doing  just  what  she  was  doing!  For  the  moment  she 
was  as  vain  as  a  girl;  then,  abruptly,  her  happy  ex 
citement  paused.  She  stood  still,  flinching  and  wincing, 
and  putting  a  hand  up  to  her  eye. 

"  Ach!"  she  said;  "a  filing!"  she  looked  with  the  other 
sympathetically  watering  eye  at  her  son.  "Here,  take 
this  thing  out." 

"If  Blair  said,  dismayed.  "Oh,  I  might  hurt  you." 
Then,  in  his  helplessness  and  concern — for,  ignorant  as 
he  was,  he  knew  enough  of  the  Works  to  know  that  an 
iron  filing  in  your  eye  is  no  joke — he  turned,  with  a 
flurried  gesture,  to  one  of  the  molders.  "Get  a  doctor, 
can't  you?  Don't  stand  there  staring!" 

"Doctor?"  said  Mrs.  Maitland.  She  gave  her  son 
a  look,  and  laughed.  "He's  afraid  he'll  hurt  me!"  she 
said,  with  a  warm  joyousness  in  her  voice;  "Jim,  got  a 
jack-knife?  Just  dig  this  thing  out."  Jim  came,  dirty 
and  hesitating,  but  prepared  for  a  very  common  emer 
gency  of  the  Works.  With  a  black  thumb  and  fore 
finger  he  raised  the  wincing  lid,  and  with  the  pointed 
blade  of  the  jack-knife  lifted,  with  delicacy  and  precision, 
the  irritating  iron  speck  from  the  iris.  '"Bliged," 
Mrs.  Maitland  said.  She  clapped  a  rather  grimy  hand 
kerchief  over  the  poor  red  eye,  and  turned  to  Blair. 
"Come  on!"  she  said,  and  struck  him  on  the  shoulder  so 
heartily  that  he  stumbled.  Her  cheek  was  blackened 
by  the  molder's  greasy  fingers,  and  so  smeared  with 
tears  from  the  still  watering  eye  that  he  could  not  bear 
to  look  at  it.  He  hesitated,  then  offered  her  his  hand 
kerchief,  which  at  least  had  the  advantage  of  being 
clean.  She  took  it,  glanced  at' its  elaborate  monogram, 
and  laughed;  then  she  dabbed  her  eye  with  it.  "I 
guess  I'll  have  to  put  some  of  that  cologne  of  yours  on 
this  fancy  thing.  Remember  that  green  bottle  with  the 
calendar  and  the  red  ribbons  on  it,  that  you  gave  me 

108 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

when  you  were  a  little  fellow?     I've  never  had  anything 
of  my  own  fine  enough  to  use  the  stuff  on !" 

When  they  got  back  to  the  office  again  she  was  very 
brief  and  business-like  with  him.  She  had  had  a  fine 
morning,  but  she  couldn't  waste  any  more  time!  "  You 
can  keep  all  this  that  you  have  seen  in  your  mind.  I 
don't  know  just  where  I  shall  put  you.  If  you  have  a 
preference,  express  it."  Then  she  told  him  what  his 
salary  would  be  when  he  got  to  work,  and  what  allow 
ance  he  was  to  have  for  the  present. 

"Now,  clear  out,  clear  out!"  she  said;  "good-by"; 
and  turned  her  cheek  toward  him  for  their  semi-annual 
parting.  Blair,  with  his  eyes  shut,  kissed  her. 

"Good-by,  Mother.  It  has  been  awfully  interesting. 
And  I  am  awfully  obliged  to  you  about  the  allowance." 
On  the  threshold  of  the  office  he  halted.  "Mother," 
he  said, — and  his  voice  was  generous  even  to  wistfulness; 
''Mother,  that  cradle  thing  was  stunning." 

Mrs.  Maitland  nodded  proudly;  when  he  had  gone, 
she  folded  his  handkerchief  up,  and  with  a  queer,  shy 
gesture,  slipped  it  into  the  bosom  of  her  dress.  Then 
she  rang  her  bell.  "Ask  Mr.  Ferguson  to  step  here.". 
When  her  superintendent  took  the  chair  beside  her  desk, 
she  was  all  business;  but  when  business  was  over  and 
he  got  up,  she  stopped  him:  "Tell  the  bookkeeper  to 
double  Blair's  allowance,  beginning  to-da^." 

Ferguson  mauc  a  memorandum. 

"And  Mr.  Ferguson,  I  have  told  Blair  that  I  con 
sent  to  his  engagement  with  Elizabeth,  and  I  shall  make 
it  possible  for  them  to  be  married  as  soon  as  he  gradu 
ates—" 

"But—"      . 

"I  do  this,"  she  went  on,  her  satisfaction  warm 
in  her  voice,  "because  I  think  he  needs  the  incentive 
that  comes  to  a  young  man  when  he  wants  to  get  married. 
It  is  natural  and  proper.  And  I  will  see  that  things 
are  right  for  them.". 

109 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Robert  Ferguson,  "I  would 
not  permit  Elizabeth  to  marry  Blair;  but  fortunately 
we  need  not  discuss  that.  They  have  quarreled,  and 
there  is  no  longer  any  question  of  such  a  thing." 

"Quarreled!  but  only  this  morning,  not  an  hour 
ago,  he  let  me  suppose — "  She  paused.  "Well,  I'm 
sorry."  She  paused  again,  and  made  aimless  marks 
with  her  pen  on  the  blotter.  "That's  all  this  morning, 
Mr.  Ferguson."  And  though  he  lingered  to  tell  her, 
with  grim  amusement,  of  Elizabeth's  angry  bath,  she 
made  no  further  comment. 

When  he  had  left  the  office  she  got  up  and  shut  the 
door.  Then  she  went  back  to  her  chair,  and  leaning  an 
elbow  on  her  desk,  covered  her  lips  with  her  hand.  After 
she  had  sat  thus  for  nearly  ten  minutes,  she  suddenly 
rang  for  an  office-boy.  "Take  this  handkerchief  up  to 
the  house  to  my  son,"  she  said;  "he  forgot  it." 


CHAPTER  IX 

FOR  the  next  five  or  cix  years  Blair  was  not  often  at 
home.  At  the  end  of  his  freshman  year  he  was  con 
ditioned,  and  found  a  tutor  and  the  seashore  and  his 
sketching — for  he  painted  with  some  enthusiasm  just  at 
that  time — much  more  attractive  than  his  mother  and 
Mercer.  After  that  he  went  to  Europe  in  the  long 
vacations. 

"How  much  vacation  have  I  had  since  I  began  to  run 
his  business  for  him?"  his  mother  said  once  in  answer 
to  Nannie's  intercession  that  he  might  be  allowed  to 
travel.  But  she  let  him  go.  She  did  not  know  how  to 
do  anything  else;  she  always  let  him  do  what  he  pleased, 
and  have  what  he  wanted ;  she  gave  him  everything,  and 
she  exacted  no  equivalent,  either  in  scholarship  or  con 
duct.  It  never  occurred  to  her  to  make  him  appreciate 
his  privileges  by  paying  for  them,  and  so,  of  course, 
she  pauperized  him. 

"Blair  likes  Europe,"  she  said  one  Sunday  afternoon 
to  David  Richie,  who  had  come  in  to  see  Nannie,  "but 
as  for  me,  I  wouldn't  take  an  hour  of  my  good  time,  or 
spend  a  dollar  of  my  good  money,  to  see  the  best  of  their 
cathedrals  and  statues  and  things.  Do  you  mean  to 
say  there  is  a  cathedral  in  the  world  as  handsome  as 
my  new  foundry?" 

"Well,"  David  said  modestly,  "I  haven't  seen  any 
cathedrals,  you  know,  Mrs.  Maitland." 

"  It's  small  loss  to  you,  David,"  she  said  kindly.  "  But 
I  wish  I'd  thought  to  invite  you  to  go  along  with  Blair 
last  summer.  You  might  have  liked  it,  though  you  are 
a  pretty  sensible  fellow  in  most  things." 

8  in 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Oh,  I  can't  go  to  Europe  till  I  can  earn  enough  to 
pay  my  own  way,"  David  replied,  and  added  with  a 
quick  look  at  Nannie,  "besides,  I  like  being  in  Mercer." 
"Blair  has  no  need  to  earn  money,"  said  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  carelessly;  then  she  blew  out  her  lips  in  a  bubbling 
sigh.  "And  he  would  rather  see  a  cathedral  than  his 
mother." 

The  pathos  of  that  pricked  even  the  pleasant  egotism 
of  youth;  David  winced,  and  Nannie  tried  to  murmur 
something  of  her  brother's  needing  the  rest. 

Mrs.  Maitland  gave  her  grunt  of  amusement.  "Rest! 
What's  he  ever  done  to  tire  him  ?  Well !  Clear  out,  clear 
out,  you  two, — if  you're  going  to  take  a  walk.  I'm 
glad  you  came  back  for  your  vacation,  David,  at  any 
rate.  Nannie  needs  shaking  up.  She  sticks  at  home 
here  with  me,  and  a  girl  ought  to  see  people  once  in  a 
while."  She  glanced  at  the  two  young  creatures  shrewdly. 
"Why  not ?"  she  reflected.  She  had  never  thought  of  it 
before,  but  "why  not?"  It  wou1d  be  a  very  sensible 
arrangement.  The  next  moment  she  had  decided  that 
it  should  be!  Nannie's  money  would  be  a  help  to  the 
boy,  and  he  needn't  depend  on  his  doctoring  business. 
"I  must  put  it  through,"  she  said  to  herself,  just  as  she 
might  have  said  that  she  would  put  through  a  piece  of 
work  in  the  office. 

This  match-making  purpose  made  her  invite  David  to 
supper  very  frequently,  and  every  time  he  came  she  was 
apt,  after  he  had  taken  his  departure,  to  tramp  into  Nan 
nie's  parlor  in  the  hope  of  being  told  that  the  "sensible 
arrangement"  had  been  made.  When  she  found  them 
together,  and  caught  a  word  or  two  about  Elizabeth, 
she  had  no  flash  of  insight.  But,  except  to  her,  the  situa 
tion  as  regarded  David  and  Elizabeth  was  perfectly  clear. 

When,  seven  years  before,  the  two  boys  had  gone  off 
together  to  college,  Blair  had  confided  to  his  friend 
that  his  faith  in  women  was  forever  dest  royed .  '  Though 
I  shall  love  Elizabeth,  always,"  he  said. 

112 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Maybe  she'll  come  round?'*  David  tried  to  com 
fort  him. 

"If  she  doesn't,  I  shall  never  love  another  woman," 
Blair  said  darkly. 

David  was  silent.  But  as  he  and  Blair  were  just 
then  in  the  Damon  and  Pythias  stage,  and  had  sworn 
to  each  other  that  "no  woman  should  ever  come  be 
tween  them,"  he  gave  a  hopeless  shrug.  "That  dishes 
me,"  he  said  to  himself,  "so  long  as  he  will  never  love 
any  other  girl,  I  can't  cut  in." 

It  would  have  been  rather  a  relief  to  Mrs.  Richie  to 
know  that  her  son  had  reached  this  artless  conclusion, 
for  the  last  thing  she  desired  was  that  David's  calf 
love  should  harden  into  any  real  purpose.  Elizabeth — 
sweet-hearted  below  the  careless  selfishness  of  a  tem 
per  which  it  never  occurred  to  her  must  be  controlled — 
was  a  most  kissable  young  creature  to  her  elders,  and 
Mrs.  Richie  was  heartily  fond  ot  her ;  but  all  the  same 
she  did  not  want  a  daughter-in-law  with  a  temper! 
Elizabeth,  on  her  part,  repelled  by  David's  mother's 
unattainable  perfections,  never  allowed  the  older  woman 
to  feel  intimate  with  her.  That  first  meeting  so 
many  years  ago,  when  they  had  each  recoiled  from 
the  other,  seemed  to  have  left  a  gulf  between  them, 
which  had  never  quite  closed  up.  So  Mrs.  Richie  was 
just  as  well  pleased  that  in  the  next  few  years  David, 
for  one  reason  or  another,  did  not  see  his  old  neighbor 
very  often.  By  the  time  he  was  twenty-four,  and  well 
along  in  his  course  at  the  medical  school,  she  had 
almost  forgotten  her  vague  apprehensions.  The  pause 
in  the  intimacy  of  the  mother  and  son — the  inevitable 
pause  that  comes  between  the  boy's  seventeenth  and 
twentieth  years — had  ended,  and  David  and  his  mother 
were  frank  and  confidential  friends  again;  yet,  though  she 
did  not  know  it,  one  door  was  still  closed  between  them : 
"He's  forgotten  all  about  it,"  Mrs.  Richie  told  herself 
comfortably;  and  never  guessed  that  in  silence  he  remem- 

"3 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

bered.  Of  course  David's  boyish  idea  of  honor  was 
no  longer  subject  to  the  claim  of  friendship,  for  Blair 
had  entirely  recovered  from  his  first  passion.  The  only 
thing  he  feared  now  was  his  own  un worth.  After  all, 
what  had  a  dumb  fellow  like  himself  to  offer  such  a 
radiant  being? 

For  indeed  she  was  radiant.  The  girl  he  had  known 
nearly  all  his  life,  impetuous,  devoid  of  self-conscious 
ness,  giving  her  sweet,  sexless  love  with  both  generous 
hands,  had  vanished  with  the  old  frank  days  of  dropping 
an  uninvited  head  on  a  boy's  shoulder.  Now,  though 
she  was  still  impetuous,  still  unconscious  of  self,  she 
was  glowing  with  womanhood,  and  ready  to  be  loved. 
She  was  not  beautiful,  except  in  so  far  as  she  was  young, 
for" youth  is  always  beautiful;  she  was  tall,  of  a  sweet 
and  delicate  thinness,  and  with  the  faint  coloring  of  a 
blush-rose;  her  dimple  was  exquisite;  her  brows  were 
straight  and  fine,  shading  eyes  wonderfully  star-like,  but 
often  stormy — eyes  of  clear,  dark  amber,  which,  now 
that  David  had  come  home,  were  full  of  dreams. 

Before  her  joyous  personality,  no  wonder  poor  inarticu 
late  David  was  torn  with  apprehensions!  He  did  not 
share  them  with  his  mother,  who,  with  more  or  less  mis 
giving,  began  to  guess  how  things  were  for  herself;  he 
knew  instinctively  that  Mrs.  Richie's  gentle,  orderly 
mind  could  not  possibly  understand  Elizabeth,  still  less 
appreciate  the  peculiar  charm  to  his  inherent  reason 
ableness  of  her  sweet,  stormy,  undisciplined  tempera 
ment.  Nannie  Maitland  could  not  understand  either,  and 
yet  it  was  to  Nannie — kind,  literal  little  Nannie,  who 
never  understood  anything  abstract,  that  David  revealed 
his  heart.  She  was  intensely  sympathetic,  and  having 
long  ago  relinquished  the  sister-in-law  dream,  encour 
aged  him  to  rave  about  Elizabeth  to  his  heart's  content ; 
in  fact,  for  at  least  a  year  before  Mrs.  Maitland  had 
evolved  that  "sensible  arrangement"  for  her  step 
daughter,  David,  whenever  he  was  at  home,  used  to 

114 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

go  to  see  Nannie  simply  to  pour  out  his  hopes  or  his 
dismays.  It  was  mostly  dismays,  for  it  seemed  to  him 
that  Elizabeth  was  as  uncertain  as  the  wind!  "She 
does — she  doesn't,"  he  used  to  say  to  himself;  and  then 
he  would  question  Nannie,  who,  having  received  certain 
confidences  from  the  other  side,  would  reassure  him  so 
warmly  that  he  would  take  heart  again. 

At  the  time  that  he  finally  dared  to  put  his  fate  to  the 
touch,  Mrs.  Maitland's  match-making  intentions  for 
Nannie  had  reached  a  point  where  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  to  put  the  matter  through  without  any  more  de 
lay.  "I'll  speak  to  Mrs.  Richie  about  it,  and  get  the 
thing  settled,"  she  said  to  herself;  "no  use  dawdling 
along  this  way!"  But  just  the  day  before  she  found 
time  to  speak  to  Mrs.  Richie  —  it  was  in  David's  mid 
winter  recess — something  happened. 

Elizabeth  had  accepted — not  too  eagerly,  of  course— 
an  invitation  to  walk  with  him;  and  off  they  went, 
down  Sandusky  Street  to  the  river  and  across  the  old 
covered  bridge.  They  stopped  to  say  how  do  you  do 
to  Mrs.  Todd,  who  was  peering  out  from  behind  the 
scarlet  geraniums  in  the  window  of  the  "saloon."  Eliza 
beth  took  the  usual  suggestive  joke  about  a  "pretty 
pair"  with  a  little  hauteur,  but  David  beamed,  and  as 
he  left  the  room  he  squeezed  Mrs.  Todd  suddenly  round 
her  fat  waist,  which  made  her  squeak  but  pleased  her 
very  much.  "Made  for  each  other!"  she  whispered 
wheezily;  and  David  slipped  a  bill  into  her  hand  through 
sheer  joy. 

"Better  have  some  ice-cream,"  the  old  lady  wheedled; 
"such  hot  blood  needs  cooling." 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Todd,  she  is  so  cool,  I  don't  need  ice 
cream,"  the  young  fellow  mourned  in  her  motherly 
ear. 

"Get  out  with  ye!  Ain't  you  got  eyes?  She's 
waitin'  to  eat  you  up, — and  starvin'  for  ye!"  And 
David  hurried  after  Elizabeth,  who  had  reached  the 

"5 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

tollgate  and  was  waiting,  if  not  to  eat  him,  at  any  rate 
for  his  company. 

"She's  a  dear  old  soul!"  he  said  joyfully. 

"I  believe  ^ou  gave  her  a  kiss,"  Elizabeth  declared. 

" I  gave  her  a  hug.     She  said  things  I  liked!" 

Elizabeth,  guessing  what  the  things  might  have 
been,  swerved  away  from  the  subject,  and  murmured 
how  pretty  the  country  looked.  There  had  been  a 
snow-storm  the  night  before,  and  the  fields  were  glisten 
ing,  unbroken  sheets  of  white;  the  road  David  chose 
was  followed  by  a  brook,  that  ran  chuckling  between 
the  agate  strips  of  ice  along  its  banks;  here  and  there 
a  dipping  branch  had  been  caught  and  was  held  in  a 
tinkling  crystal  prison,  and  here  and  there  the  ice  con 
quered  the  current,  and  the  water  could  be  heard  gurgling 
and  complaining  under  its  snowy  covering.  David 
thought  that  all  the  world  was  beautiful, — now  that 
Mrs.  Todd  had  bidden  him  use  his  eyes! 

"Remember  when  we  used  to  sled  down  this  hill, 
Elizabeth?" 

She  turned  her  cool,  glowing  face  toward  him  and 
nodded.  "Indeed  I  do!  And  you  used  to  haul  my 
sled  up  to  the  top  again." 

"I  don't  think  I  have  forgotten  anything  we  did." 

Instantly  she  veered  away  from  personalities.  "Isn't 
it  a  pity  Blair  dislikes  Mercer  so  much?  Nannie  is 
dreadfully  lonely  without  him." 

"She  has  you;  I  don't  see  how  she  can  be  lonely." 

"Oh,  I  don't  count  for  anything  compared  to  Blair." 
Her  breath  came  quickly.  The  starry  light  was  in  her 
eyes,  but  he  did  not  see  it.  He  was  not  daring  to  look 
at  her. 

"You  count  for  everything  to  me,"  he  said,  in  a  con 
strained  voice. 

She  was  silent. 

"  Elizabeth . . .  do  you  think  you  could — care  ?  a  little  ?" 

She  looked  away  from  him  without  a  word.  David 

116 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

trembled;  "  It's  all  up — "  he  said  to  himself;  and  even 
as  he  said  it,  a  small,  cold  hand  was  stretched  out  to 
him, — a  hand  that  trembled: 

"David,  I  am  not  good  enough.     Truly,  I'm  not." 

The  very  shock  of  having  his  doubts  and  fears  crumble 
so  suddenly,  made  him  stand  stock-still;  he  turned  very 
white.  "What!"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  You — care? 
Oh  no,  you  don't!  You  can't.  I  can't  believe  it." 

Upon  which  Elizabeth  was  instantly  joyous  again. 
"Well,  I  won't,  if  you  don't  want  me  to,"  she  said  gaily, 
and  walked  on,  leaving  him  standing,  amazed,  in  -the 
snow.  Then  she  looked  back  at  him  over  her  shoulder. 
At  that  arch  and  lovely  look  he  bounded  to  her, 
stammering  something,  he  did  not  know  what  himself; 
but  she  laughed,  glowing  and  scolding,  swerving  over 
to  the  other  side  of  the  path.  "David!  We  are  on  a 
public  road.  Stop!  Please!" 

"To  think  of  your  caring,"  he  said,  almost  in  a 
whisper.  His  face,  with  its  flash  of  ecstasy,  was  like 
wine  to  her;  all  her  soul  spoke  fearlessly  in  her  eyes: 
"Care?  Why,  David,  I  was  only  so  awfully  afiaid 
you  weren't*" going  to  ask  me!" 

His  lip  trembled.  He  was  quite  speechless.  But 
Elizabeth  was  bubbling  over  with  joy;  then  suddenly, 
her  exhilaration  flagged.  "What  will  your  mother  say? 
She  doesn't  like  me." 

"Elizabeth!  she  loves  you!  How  could  she  help 
it?  How  could  anybody  help  it?" 

"It's  my  temper,"  she  said,  sighing;  "my  wicked 
temper.  Of  course  I  never  mean  anything  I  say,  and  I 
can't  imagine  why  people  mind;  but  they  do.  Last 
week  I  made  Cherry-pie  cry.  Of  course  she  oughtn't 
to  have  been  hurt; — she  knows  me.  You  see  I  am  really 
a  devil,  David,  to  make  dear,  old  Cherry-pie  unhappy! 
But  I  don't  believe  I  will  ever  lose  my  temper  again  as 
long  as  I  live.  I  am  going  to  be  good,  like  your  moth 
er."  The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes.  "  Mrs.  Richie  is  so 

117 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

simply  perfect  I  am  sort  of  afraid  of  her.  I  wish  she 
had  ever  been  wicked,  like  me.  David,  what  shall  we 
do  if  she  won't  consent?" 

"She'll  consent  all  right,"  he  said,  chuckling;  and 
added  with  the  sweet  and  trusting  egotism  of  youth: 
"the  only  thing  in  the  world  Materna  wants,  you  know, 
is  my  happiness.  But  do  you  suppose  it  would  make 
any  difference  if  she  didn't  consent?  You  are  for  me," 
he  said  with  an  abrupt  solemnity  that  was  almost  harsh. 
"Nothing  in  the  world  can  take  you  from  me." 

And  she  whispered,  "Nothing." 

Then  David,  like  every  lover  who  has  ever  loved,  cast 
his  challenge  into  the  grinning  face  of  Fate:  "This  is 
forever,  Elizabeth." 

"Forever,  David." 

On  their  way  home,  as  they  passed  the  toll-house,  he 
left  her  and  ran  up  the  path  to  tap  on  the  window;  when 
Mrs.  Todd  beamed  at  him  through  the  geraniums,  "I've 
got  her!"  he  cried.  And  the  gay  old  voice  called  back, 
i' Glory  be!" 

On  the  bridge  in  the  gathering  dusk  they  stood  for 
some  time  without  speaking,  looking  down  at  the  river. 
Once  or  twice  a  passer-by  glanced  at  the  two  figures 
leaning  there  on  the  hand-rail,  and  wondered  at  the 
foolishness  of  people  who  would  stand  in  the  cold  and 
look  at  a  river  full  of  ice;  but  David  and  Elizabeth  did 
not  see  the  passing  world.  The  hurrying  water  ran  in  a 
turbulent,  foam-streaked  flood;  great  sheets  of  ice, 
rocking  and  grinding  against  one  another,  made  a  con 
tinuous  soft  crash  of  sound.  Sometimes  one  of  them 
would  strike  the  wooden  casing  of  a  pier,  and  then  the 
whole  bridge  jarred  and  quivered,  and  the  cake  of  ice, 
breaking  and  splintering,  would  heap  itself  on  a  long 
white  spit  that  pushed  up-stream  through  the  rushing 
current.  The  river  was  yellow  with  mud  torn  up  by  a 
freshet  back  among  the  hills,  but  the  last  rays  of  the 
sun, — a  disk  of  copper  sinking  into  the  brown  haze 

118 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

behind  the  hills,  —  caught  on  the  broken  edges  of  the 
icy  snow,  and  made  a  sudden  white  glitter  almost  from 
shore  to  shore. 

"Elizabeth,"  David  said,  "I  want  to  tell  you  some 
thing.  I  stood  right  here,  and  looked  at  a  raft  coming 
down  the  river,  the  evening  that  Blair  told  me  that  you 
and  he — " 

"Don't!"  she  said,  shivering. 

"I  won't,"  he  told  her  tenderly;  "you  were  only  a 
child;  it  didn't  mean  anything.  Don't  you  suppose  I 
understand?  But  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  it  was 
then,  nearly  eight  years  ago,  when  I  was  just  a  boy, 
that  I  realized  that  / — "  he  paused. 

She  looked  at  him  silently;  her  lip  quivered  and  she 
nodded. 

"And  I  have  never  changed  since,"  he  said.  "I 
stood  just  here,  leaning  on  this  railing,  and  I  was  so 
vretched!"  he  laughed  under  his  breath;  "I  didn't 
know  what  was  the  matter  with  me!  I  was  only  a  cub, 
you  know.  But" — he  spoke  very  softly — "all  of  a 
sudden  I  knew.  Elizabeth,  a  woman  on  the  raft  looked 
up  at  me.  There  was  a  little  baby.  .  .  .  Dear,  it  was 
then  that  I  knew  I  loved  you." 

At  those  elemental  words  her  heart  came  up  into  her 
throat.  She  could  not  speak,  but  suddenly  she  stooped 
and  kissed  the  battered  hand-rail  where  he  said  his 
hands  had  rested. 

David,  horrified,  glancing  right  and  left  in  the  dusk 
and  seeing  no  one,  put  a  swift  arm  about  her  in  which 
to  whisper  a  single  word.  Then,  very  softly,  he  kissed 
her  cheek.  For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  ebb  away  from 
him;  then,  abruptly,  like  the  soft  surge  of  a  returning 
wave,  she  sank  against  his  breast  and  her  lips  demanded 
his.  .  .  . 

That  night  David  told  his  mother.  He  had  been 
profoundly  shaken  by  Elizabeth's  lovely  unexpected 
motion  there  in  the  twilight  on  the  bridge;  it  was  a 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

motion  so  divinely  unconscious  of  the  outside  world, 
that  he  was  moved  to  the  point  of  finding  no  words  to 
say  how  moved  he  was.  But  she  had  felt  him  tremble 
from  head  to  foot  when  her  lips  burned  against  his, — so 
she  needed  no  words.  His  silence  still  lasted  when, 
after  an  hour  next  door  with  her,  he  came  home  and  sat 
down  on  the  sofa  beside  his  mother.  He  nuzzled  his 
blond  head  against  hers  for  a  moment;  then  slipped  an 
arm  round  her  waist. 

"It's  all  right,  Materna,"  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  gasp. 

"What  is,  dear?" 

"Oh,  mother,  the  idea  of  asking!  The  only  thing  in 
the  world." 

"You  mean — you  and  Elizabeth?" 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

She  was  silent  for  a  moment;  when  she  spoke  her 
voice  broke  a  little.  "When  was  it,  dear?" 

"This  afternoon,"  he  said.  And  once  started,  he 
overflowed:  "I  can't  get  my  breath  yet,  though  I've 
known  it  since  a  quarter  past  four!" 

Mrs.  Richie  laughed,  and  then  sighed.  "David,  of 
course  I'm  happy,  if  you  are;  but — I  hope  she's  good 
enough  for  you,  dear."  She  felt  him  stiffen  against  her 
shoulder. 

"Good  enough?  for  me!  Materna,  she  is  perfect! 
Don't  you  suppose  I  know?  I've  know  her  nearly  all 
my  life,  and  I  can  say  she  is  perfect.  She  is  as  perfect 
as  you  are;  she  said  you  were  perfect  this  afternoon. 
Yes;  I  never  supposed  I  could  say  that  any  woman 
was  as  good,  and  lovely,  and  pure,  as  you — " 

"David,  please  don't  say  such  things." 

David  was  not  listening.  "But  I  can  say  it  of  Eliza 
beth!  Oh,  what  a  lucky  fellow  I  am!  I  always  thought 
Blair  would  get  her.  He's  such  a  mighty  good  fellow, — 
and  so  darned  good-looking,  confound  him!"  David 
ruminated  affectionately.  "And  he  can  talk;  he's  not 
bottled  up,  like  me.  To  think  she  would  look  at  me, 

120 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

when  she  could  have  had  him, — or  anybody  else!  It 
seems  kind  of  mean  to  cut  Blair  out,  when  he  isn't 
here.  He  hasn't  seen  her,  you  know,  for  about  two 
years." 

"Perhaps  you  would  like  to  call  it  off  until  he  gets 
home,  and  give  him  a  chance?" 

David  grinned.  "No,  thank  you.  Oh,  Materna, 
she  is,  you  know,  really,  so — so  sort  of  wonderful !  Some 
time  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  her.  I  don't  believe 
anybody  quite  understands  Elizabeth  but  me.  But  to 
think  of  her  caring  for  me !  To  think  of  my  having  two 
such  women  to  care  for  me."  He  took  her  hand  gently 
and  kissed  it.  "Mother,"  he  said — he  spoke  with  almost 
painful  effort;  "Mother,  I  want  to  tell  you  something. 
I  want  to  tell  you,  because,  being  what  you  are,  you 
can't  in  the  least  understand  what  it  means;  but  I  do 
want  you  to  know:  I've  never  kissed  any  woman  but 
you,  Materna,  until  I  kissed — Her." 

"Oh,"  said  Helena  Richie,  in  a  stifled  voice,  "don't, 
David,  don't;  I  can't  bear  it!  And  if  she  doesn't  make 
you  happy — " 

"Make  me  happy?"  David  said.  He  paused;  that 
unasked  kiss  burned  once  more  against  his  lips;  he 
almost  shivered  at  the  pang  of  it.  "Materna,"  he  said 
hoarsely,  "if  she  or  I  were  to  die  to-night,  I,  at  any 
rate,  have  had  happiness  enough  in  these  few  hours  to 
have  made  it  worth  while  to  have  lived." 

"Love  doesn't  mean  just  happiness,"  she  said. 

David  was  silent  for  a  moment;  then  he  said,  very 
gently,  "You  are  thinking  of — of  your  little  boy,  who 
died?" 

"Yes;  and  of  my  marriage;  it  was  not  happy, 
David." 

He  pressed  his  cheek  against  hers,  without  speaking. 
The  grief  of  an  unhappy  marriage  he  had  long  ago  guessed, 
and  in  this  moment  of  his  own  happiness  the  remembrance 
of  it  was  intolerable  to  him.  As  for  the  other  grief: 

121 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"when  I  think  of  the  baby,"  he  said,  softly,  "I  feel  as  if 
that  little  beggar  gave  me  my  mother.  I  feel  as  if  I  had 
his  job;  and  if  I  am  not  a  good  son — "  he  stopped,  and 
looked  at  her,  smiling;  but  something  in  her  face — per 
haps  the  pitiful  effort  to  smile  back  through  the  tears 
of  an  old,  old  sorrow,  gave  him  a  sudden,  solemn  thrill; 
the  race  pain  stirred  in  him;  he  seemed  to  see  his  own 
child,  dead,  in  Elizabeth's  arms. 

"Mother!"  he  said,  thickly,  and  caught  her  in  his 
arms.  She  felt"  his  heart  pounding  heavily  in  his  side, 
but  she  smiled.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "my  little  boy  gave 
me  another  son,  though  I  didn't  deserve  him!  No, 
no,  I  didn't,"  she  insisted,  laying  her  soft  mother-hand 
over  his  protesting  lips;  "I  used  to  wonder  sometimes, 
David,  why  God  trusted  you  to  me,  instead  of  to  a — a 
better  woman — "  again  she  checked  his  outburst  that 
God  had  never  made  a  better  woman!  "Hush,  dear, 
hush.  But  I  didn't  mean  that  love  might  mean  sorrow. 
There  are  worse  things  in  the  world  than  sorrow,"  she 
ended,  almost  in  a  whisper. 

"Yes,  there  are  worse  things,"  he  said  quietly;  "of 
course  I  know  that.  But  they  are  not  possible  things 
where  Elizabeth  is  concerned.  There  is  only  one  thing 
that  can  hurt  us:  Death." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  my  dear!  Life  can  hurt  so  much 
more  than  death!  So  much  more." 

But  David  had  nothing  more  to  say  of  life  and  love. 
He  retreated  abruptly  to  the  matter  of  fact;  he  had 
gone  to  his  limit,  not  only  of  expression,  but  of  that 
modesty  of  soul  which  forbids  exposure  of  the  emotions, 
and  is  as  exquisite  in  a  young  man  as  physical  modesty 
is  in  a  girl.  He  was  unwilling,  indeed  he  was  unable,  to 
show  even  to  his  mother,  even,  perhaps,  to  Elizabeth,  the 
speechless  depths  that  had  been  stirred  that  afternoon 
by  the  first  kiss  of  passion,  and  stirred  again  that  night 
by  the  sight  of  tears  for  a  baby, — a  baby  dead  for  al 
most  a  quarter  of  a  century!  He  got  up,  thrust  his 

122 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

hands  into  his  pockets,  and  whistled.  "Heaven  knows 
how  long  it  will  be  before  we  c£n  be  married!  How 
soon  do  you  think  I  can  count  on  getting  patients  enough 
to  get  married?" 

Mrs.  Richie  laughed,  though  there  was  still  a  break 
of  pain  in  her  voice.  "My  dear  bo 7,  when  you  leave 
the  medical  school  I  mean  to  give  you  an  allow 
ance  which, — " 

"No,  Maternal"  he  interrupted  her;  "I  am  going  to 
stand  on  my  own  legs!"  David's  feeling  about  self- 
support  gave  him  a  satisfaction  out  of  all  proportion  to 
the  pain  it  sometimes  gave  his  mother.  She  winced 
now,  as  if  his  words  hurt  her. 

"  David !     All  that  I  have  is  yours." 

"No,"  he  said  again.  "I  couldn't  accept  anything. 
I  believe  if  a  man  can't  take  care  of  his  wife  himself,  he 
has  no  business  to  have  a  wife.  It's  bad  enough  for 
you  to  be  supporting  a  big,  hungry  medical  student ;  but 
I  swear  you  sha'n't  feed  his  wife,  too.  I  can't  be  in 
debted,  even  to  you!"  he  ended,  with  the  laughing  cock- 
sureness  of  high-minded  youth. 

"Indebted?  Oh,  David!"  she  said.  For  a  moment 
his  words  wounded  her;  but  when  he  had  left  her  to 
go  back  to  Elizabeth  again,  and  she  sat  alone  by  her 
fireside,  she  forgot  this  surface  wound  in  some  deeper 
pain.  David  had  said  he  had  never  kissed  any  woman 
but  her,  until  he  kissed  Her.  He  had  said  that  the 
things  that  were  "worse  than  death"  were  not  possible 
to  Elizabeth.  For  a  moment  this  soft  mother  felt  a 
stab  of  something  like  jealousy;  then  her  thought  went 
back  to  that  deeper  pain.  He  had  not  supposed  any 
body  could  be  as  "perfect"  as  his  mother.  Helena 
Richie  cowered,  as  if  the  sacred  words  were  whips;  she 
covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  sat  a  long  time 
without  moving.  Perhaps  she  was  thinking  of  a  certain 
old  letter,  locked  away  in  her  desk,  and  in  her  heart, — for 
she  knew  every  word  of  it : 

123 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"My  child,  your  secret  belongs  to  your  Heavenly 
Father.  It  is  never  co  be  taken  from  His  hands,  except 
for  one  reason:  to  s'.ve  some  other  child  of  His.  Never 
for  any  smaller  rea  ;on  of  peace  of  mind  to  yourself." 

When  she  lifteu  her  bowed  head  from  her  hands  the 
fire  was  out.  There  were  tears  upon  her  face. 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  was  the  very  next  afternoon  that  Mrs.  Maitland 
found  time  to  look  after  Nannie's  matrimonial  interests. 
In  the  raw  December  twilight  she  tramped  muddily 
into  Mrs.  Richie's  firelit  parlor,  which  was  fragrant  with 
hyacinths  blossoming  on  every  window-sill.  Mr.  Fer 
guson  had  started  them  in  August  in  his  own  cellar, 
for,  as  any  landlord  will  tell  you,  it  is  the  merest  matter 
of  business  to  do  all  you  can  for  a  good  tenant.  Mrs. 
Maitland  found  her  superintendent  and  Mrs.  Richie 
just  shaking  hands  on  David's  luck,  Mrs.  Richie  a  little 
tremulous,  and  Robert  Ferguson  a  little  grudging,  of 
course. 

"Well,  I  hope  they'll  be  happy,"  he  said,  sighing; 
"I  suppose  some  marriages  are  happy,  but — " 

"Oh,  Mr.  Ferguson,  you  are  delightful!"  Mrs.  Richie 
said;  and  it  was  at  that  moment  that  Mrs.  Maitland 
came  tramping  in.  Instantly  the  large,  vital  presence 
made  the  charming  room  seem  small  and  crowded. 
There  were  too  many  flowers,  too  many  ornaments, 
too  many  photographs  of  David.  Mrs.  Maitland  sat 
down  heavily  on  a  gilded  chair,  that  creaked  so  ominously 
that  she  rose  and  looked  at  it  impatiently. 

" Foolish  sort  of  furniture,"  she  said;  "give  me  some 
thing  solid,  please,  to  sit  on.  Well,  Mrs.  Richie!  How 
do  you  do?" 

"Nannie  has  told  you  our  great  news?"  Mrs.  Richie 
inquired. 

"Oh,  so  it's  come  to  a  head,  has  it?"  Mrs.  Maitland 
said,  vastly  pleased.  "Of  course  I  knew  what  was  in 

125 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  wind,  but  I  didn't  know  it  was  settled.  Fact  is,  I 
haven't  seen  her,  except  at  breakfast,  and  then  I  was  in 
too  much  of  a  hurry  to  think  of  it.  Well,  well,  nothing 
could  be  better!  That's  what  I  came  to  see  you  about; 
I  wanted  to  hurry  things  along.  What  do  you  say  to  it, 
Mr.  Ferguson?" 

Mrs.  Maitland  looked  positively  benign.  She  was 
sitting,  a  little  gingerly,  on  the  edge  of  the  yellow  dam 
ask  sofa  at  one  side  of  the  fireplace,  her  feet  wide  apart, 
her  skirt  pulled  back  over  her  knees,  so  that  her  scorch 
ing  petticoat  was  somewhat  liberally  displayed.  Her 
big  shoes  began  to  steam  in  the  comfortable  heat  of  a 
soft-coal  fire  that  was  blazing  and  snapping  between  the 
brass  jambs. 

Mrs.  Richie  had  drawn  up  a  chair  beside  her,  and 
Robert  Ferguson  stood  with  his  elbow  on 'the  mantel 
piece  looking  down  at  them.  Even  to  Mr.  Ferguson 
Mrs.  Maitland's  presence  in  the  gently  feminine  room 
was  incongruous.  There  was  a  little  table  at  the  side 
of  the  sofa,  and  Mrs.  Maitland,  thrusting  out  a  large, 
gesticulating  hand,  swept  a  silver  picture-frame  to  the 
floor;  in  the  confusion  of  picking  it  up  and  putting  it 
into  a  safer  place  the  little  emotional  tension  of  the 
moment  vanished.  Mrs.  Richie  winked  away  a  tear, 
and  laughed,  and  said  it  was  too  absurd  to  think  that 
their  children  were  men  and  women,  with  their  own 
lives  and  interests  and  hopes — and  love-affairs ! 

"But  love-making  is  in  the  air,  apparently,"  she  said; 
"young  Knight  is  going  to  be  married." 

"What,  Goose  Molly's  stepson?"  Mrs.  Maitland  said. 
"  She  used  to  make  sheep 's-eyes  at — at  somebody  I  knew. 
But  she  didn't  get  him!  Well,  I  must  give  the  boy  a 
present." 

"And  the  next  thing,"  Mrs.  Richie  went  on,  "will  be 
Nannie's  engagement.  Only  it  will  be  hard  to  find  any 
body  good  enough  for  Nannie!" 

"Nannie?"  said  Mrs.  Maitland  blankly. 
126 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"She  is  to  be  Elizabeth's  bridesmaid,  of  course, — 
unless  she  gets  married  before  our  wedding  comes  off. 
A  young  doctor  has  to  have  patients  before  he  can  have 
a  wife,  so  I'm  afraid  the  chances  are  Elizabeth  will  be 
Nannie's  bridesmaid." 

She  was  so  full  of  these  maternal  and  womanly  visions 
that  the  sudden  slight  rigidity  of  Mrs.  Maitland's  face 
did  not  strike  her. 

"Nannie  has  been  so  interested,"  Mrs.  Richie  went 
on.  "David  will  always  be  grateful  to  her  for  helping 
his  cause.  I  don't  know  what  he  would  have  done 
without  Nannie  to  confide  in!" 

Mrs.  Maitland's  face  relaxed.  So  Nannie  had  not 
been  slighted?  She  herself,  Nannie's  mother,  had 
made  a  mistake;  that  was  all.  Well,  she  was  sorry; 
she  wished  it  had  been  Nannie.  Poor  thing,  it  was 
lonely  for  her,  in  that  big,  empty  house!  But  these 
two  people,  patting  themselves  on  the  back  with  their 
personal  satisfaction  about  their  children,  they  must 
not  guess  her  wish.  There  was  no  resentment  in  her 
mind;  it  was  one  of  the  chances  of  business.  David 
had  chosen  Elizabeth, — more  fool  David!  "for  Nannie 
'11  have — "  Mrs.  Maitland  made  some  rapid  calcula 
tions;  "but  it's  not  my  kettle  of  fish,"  she  reflected; 
and  hoisted  herself  up  from  the  low,  deeply  cushioned 
sofa. 

"I  hope  Elizabeth  will  put  her  mind  on  housekeep 
ing,"  she  said.  "A  young  doctor  has  to  get  all  the  pork 
he  can  for  his  shilling!  He  needs  a  saving  wife." 

"She'll  have  to  be  a  saving  wife,  I'm  afraid,"  Mrs. 
Richie  said,  with  rueful  pride,  "for  that  foolish  boy  of 
mine  declines,  if  you  please,  to  be  helped  out  by  an 
allowance  from  me." 

"Oh,  he'll  have  more  sense  when  he's  more  in  love," 

Mrs.   Maitland  assured   her  easily.     "I   never  knew  a 

man  yet  who  would  refuse  honest  money  when  it  was 

offered  to  him.     Well,  Mrs.  Richie,  with  all  this  marry- 

9  127 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ing  going  on,  I  suppose  the  next  thing  will  be  you  and 
friend  Ferguson."  Even  as  she  said  it,  she  saw  in  a 
flash  an  inevitable  meaning  in  the  words,  and  she  gave 
a  great  guffaw  of  laughter.  "Bless  you!  I  didn't 
mean  that!  I  meant  you'd  be  picking  up  a  wife  some 
where,  Mr.  Ferguson,  and  Mrs.  Richie,  here,  would  be 
finding  a  husband.  But  the  other  way  would  be  easier, 
and  a  very  sensible  arrangement." 

The  two  victims  of  her  peculiar  sense  of  humor  held 
themselves  as  well  as  they  could.  Mrs.  Richie  reddened 
slightly,  but  looked  blank.  Robert  Ferguson's  jaw 
actually  dropped,  but  he  was  able  to  say  casually  that 
of  course  it  would  be  some  time  before  the  young  people 
could  be  married. 

"Well,  give  my  love  to  Elizabeth,"  Mrs.  Maitland  said: 
"tell  her  not  to  jump  into  the  river  if  she  gets  angry 
with  David.  Do  you  remember  how  she  did  that  in 
one  of  her  furies  at  Blair,  Mr.  Ferguson?"  She  gave  a 
grunt  of  a  laugh,  and  took  herself  off,  pausing  at  the 
front  door  to  call  back,  "Don't  forget  my  good  advice, 
you  people!" 

Robert  Ferguson,  putting  on  his  hat  with  all  possible 
expedition,  got  out  of  the  house  almost  as  quickly  as 
she  did.  "I'd  like  to  choke  her!"  he  said  to  himself. 
He  felt  the  desire  to  choke  Mrs.  Maitland  several  times 
that  evening  as  he  sat  in  his  library  pretending  to 
read  his  newspaper.  "She  cvght  to  be  ashamed  of 
herself!  Mrs.  Richie  will  think  I  have  been — heaven 
knows  what  she  will  think!" 

But  the  truth  was,  Mrs.  Richie  thought  nothing  at  all; 
she  forgot  the  incident  entirely.  It  was  Robert  Fer 
guson  who  did  the  embarrassed  thinking. 

As  for  Mrs.  Maitland,  she  went  home  through  Mercer's 
mire  and  fog,  her  iron  face  softening  into  almost  feminine 
'concern.  She  was  saying  to  herself  that  if  Nannie 
didn't  care,  why,  she  didn't  care!  "But  if  she  hankers 
after  him" — Mrs.  Maitland's  face  twinged  with  annoy- 

128 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ance;  "if  she  hankers  after  him,  I'll  make  it  up  to  her 
in  some  way.  I'll  give  her  a  good  big  check!"  But 
she  must  make  sure  about  the  "hankering."  It  would 
not  be  difficult  to  make  sure.  In  these  silent  years 
together,  the  strong  nature  had  drawn  the  weak  nature 
to  it,  as  a  magnet  draws  a  speck  of  iron.  Nannie,  timid 
to  the  point  of  awe,  never  daring  even  in  her  thoughts 
to  criticize  the  powerful  personality  that  dominated  her 
daily  life,  nestled  against  it,  so  to  speak,  with  perfect 
content.  Sarah  Mait land's  esthetic  deficiencies  which 
separated  her  so  tragically  from  her  son,  did  not  alienate 
Nannie.  The  fact  that  her  stepmother  was  rich,  and 
yet  lived  in  a  poverty-stricken  locality;  that  the  incon 
venience  of  the  old  house  amounted  to  squalor;  that 
they  were  almost  completely  isolated  from  people  of 
their  own  class; — none  of  these  things  disturbed  Nannie. 
They  were  merely  "Mamma's  ways,"  that  was  all  there 
was  to  say  about  them.  She  was  not  confidential  with 
Mrs.  Maitland,  because  she  had  nothing  to  confide. 
But  if  her  stepmother  had  ever  asked  any  personal 
question,  she  would  have  been  incapable  of  not  replying. 
Mrs.  Maitiand  knew  that,  and  proposed  to  satisfy  her 
self  as  to  the  "hankering." 

Supper  was  on  the  table  when  she  got  home,  and 
though  while  bolting  her  food  she  glanced  at  Nannie 
rather  keenly,  she  did  not  try  to  probe  her  feelings. 
"But  she  looks  down  in  the  mouth,"  Sarah  Maitland 
thought.  There  must  have  been  delicacy  somewhere 
in  the  big  nature,  for  she  was  careful  not  to  speak  of 
Elizabeth's  engagement  before  Harris,  for  fear  the  girl 
might,  by  some  involuntary  tremor  of  lip  or  eyelid, 
betray  herself. 

"  I'll  look  in  on  you  after  supper,"  she  said. 

Nannie,  with  a  start,  said,  "Oh,  thank  you,  Mamma." 

When  Mrs.  Maitland,  with  her  knitting  and  a  fistful  of 
unopened  letters,  came  over  to  the  parlor,  she  had  also, 
tucked  into  her  belt,  a  check. 

129 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

It  had  never  occurred  to  Nannie,  in  all  these  years 
and  with  a  very  liberal  allowance,  to  mitigate  her  parlor. 
It  was  still  a  place  of  mirrors,  grown  perhaps  a  little 
dim;  of  chandeliers  in  balloons  of  brown  paper-muslin, 
which,  to  be  sure,  had  split  here  and  there  with  age,  so 
that  a  glimmer  of  cut  glass  sparkled  dimly  through  the 
cracks;  a  place  of  marble-topped  tables,  and  crimson 
brocade  curtains  dingy  with  age  and  soot;  a  place 
where  still  the  only  human  thing  was  Nannie's  drawing- 
board.  She  was  bending  over  it  now,  copying  with  a 
faithful  pencil  a  little  picture  of  a  man  and  a  maid,  and 
a  dove  and  a  Love.  She  was  going  to  give  the  drawing 
to  Elizabeth;  in  fact,  she  had  begun  it  several  days 
ago  with  joyous  anticipation  of  this  happy  happening. 
But  now,  as  she  worked,  her  hand  trembled.  She  had 
had  a  letter  from  Blair,  and  all  her  joyousness  had  fled : 

"  The  Dean  is  an  ass,  of  course;  but  mother'll  get  ex 
cited  about  it,  Pm  afraid.  Do  smooth  her  down,  if  yon 
can." 

No  wonder  Nannie's  hand  trembled! 

Mrs.  Maitland,  putting  her  letters  on  the  table,  sat 
down  heavily  and  began  to  knit.  She  glanced  at  Nan 
nie  over  her  spectacles.  "Better  get  through  with 
it,"  she  said  to  herself.  Then,  aloud,  "Well,  Nannie,  so 
David  and  Elizabeth  have  made  a  match  of  it  ?" 

For  a  minute  Nannie's  face  brightened.  "Yes! 
Isn't  it  fine?  I'm  so  pleased.  David  has  been  crazy 
about  her  ever  since  he  was  a  boy." 

Well!  She  was  heart-whole!  There  was  no  doubt 
of  that;  Mrs.  Maitland,  visibly  relieved,  dismissed  from 
her  mind  the  whole  foolish  business  of  love-making. 
She  began  to  read  her  letters,  Nannie  watching  her 
furtively.  When  the  third  letter  was  taken  up — a 
letter  with  the  seal  of  the  University  in  the  upper  left- 
hand  corner  of  the  envelope — Blair's  sister  breathed 

130 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

quickly.  Mrs.  Maitland,  ripping  the  envelope  open 
with  a  thrust  of  her  forefinger,  read  it  swiftly;  then 
again,  slowly.  Then  she  said  something  under  her 
breath  and  struck  her  fist  on  the  table.  Nannie's  fingers 
whitened  on  her  pencil.  Sarah  Maitland  got  up  and 
stood  on  the  hearth-rug,  her  back  to  the  fire. 

"I'll  have  to  go  East,"  she  said,  and  began  to  bite 
her  forefinger. 

"Oh,  Mamma,"  Nannie  broke  out,  "I  am  sure  there 
isn't  anything  really  wrong.  Perhaps  he  has  been — 
a  little  foolish.  Men  are  foolish  in  college.  David  got 
into  hot  water  lots  of  times.  But  Blair  hasn't  done 
anything  really  bad,  and — " 

Mrs.  Maitland  gave  her  a  somber  look.  "He  wrote 
to  you,  did  he?"  she  said.  And  Nannie  realized  that 
she  had  not  advanced  her  brother's  cause.  Mrs.  Mait 
land  picked  up  her  letters  and  began  to  sort  them  out. 
"  When  is  he  going  to  grow  up ?"  she  said.  "He's  twen 
ty-four;  and  he's  been  dawdling  round  at  college  for 
the  last  two  years !  He's  not  bad ;  he  hasn't  stuff  enough 
in  him  to  be  bad.  He  is  just  lazy  and  useless;  and  he's 
had  every  chance  young  man  could  have!" 

"Mamma!"  Nannie  protested,  "it  isn't  fair  to  speak 
that  way  of  Blair,  and  it  isn't  true,  not  a  word  of  it!" 
Nannie,  the  'fraid-cat  of  twenty  years  ago, — afraid  still  of 
thunder-storms  and  the  dark  and  Sarah  Maitland,  and 
what  not, — Nannie,  when  it  came  to  defending  Blair, 
had  all  the  audacious  courage  of  love.  "He  is  not 
lazy,  he  is  not  useless;  he  is — he  is — "  Nannie  stam 
mered  with  angry  distress;  "he  is  dear,  and  good,  and 
kind,  and  never  did  any  harm  in  his  life.  Never!  It's 
perfectly  dreadful,  Mamma,  for  you  to  say  such  things 
about  him!" 

"Well,  well!"  said  Sarah  Maitland,  lifting  an  amused 
eyebrow.  It  was  as  if  a  humming-bird  had  attacked 
a  steel  billet.  Her  face  softened  into  pleased  affection. 
"Well,  stick  up  for  him,"  she  said;  "I  like  it  in  you, 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

my  dear,  though  what  you  say  is  foolish  enough.  You 
remind  me  of  your  mother.  But  your  brother  has 
brains.  Yes,  I'll  say  that  for  him, — he's  like  me;  he 
has  brains.  That's  why  I'm  so  out  of  patience  with 
him,"  she  ended,  lapsing  into  moody  displeasure  again. 
"If  he  was  a  fool,  I  wouldn't  mind  his  behaving  like  a 
fool.  But  he  has  brains."  Then  she  said,  briefly, 
'"Night,"  and  tramped  off  to  the  dining-room. 

The  next  morning  when  Nannie,  a  little  pale  from  a 
worried  night,  came  down  to  breakfast,  her  stepmother's 
place  was  empty. 

"Yes,"  Harris  explained;  "she  went  off  at  twelve, 
Miss  Nannie.  She  didn't  let  on  where.  She  said  you'd 
know." 

"I  know,"  poor  Nannie  said,  and  turned  paler  than 
ever. 


CHAPTER  XI 

AFTER  Mrs.  Maitland  had  had  an  interview  with  the 
Dean,  she  went  off  across  the  yard,  under  the  great  elms 
dripping  in  the  rainy  January  thaw.  Following  his 
directions,  she  found  her  way  through  the  corridors  of 
a  new  building  whose  inappropriate  expensiveness  was 
obvious  at  every  turn.  Blair  had  rooms  there,  as  had 
most  of  the  sons  of  rich  fathers.  The  whole  place  smelt 
of  money !  In  Blair's  apartment  money  was  less  obvious 
than  beauty — but  it  was  expensive  beauty.  He  had  a 
few  good  pictures,  and  on  one  wall  a  wonderful  tap 
estry  of  forest  foliage  and  roebucks,  that  he  had 
picked  up  in  Europe  at  a  price  which  added  to  the  dealer's 
affection  for  traveling  Americans.  The  furnishing  was 
in  quiet  and,  for  that  period,  remarkably  good  taste; 
masculine  enough  to  balance  a  certain  delicacy  of  detail 
— exquisite  Tanagra  figures,  water-colors  and  pastels 
of  women  in  costumes  of  rose  and  violet  gauze,  in 
cense  smoldering  in  an  ivory  jar,  and  much  small 
bijouterie  that  meant  an  almost  feminine  appreciation 
of  exquisite  and  costly  prettiness. 

Mrs.  Maitland  came  tramping  down  the  hall,  her  face 
set  and  stern;  but  suddenly,  almost  at  Blair's  door, 
she  paused.  Some  one  was  singing;  she  knew  the  voice 
— beautiful,  joyous,  beating  and  pulsrting  with  life: 

"  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes, 
And  I  will  pledge  with  mine." 

She  moved  over  to  a  window  that  lit  the  long  corridor, 
and  listened: 

"  Or  leave  a  kiss  .  .  ." 
133 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Sarah  Maitland  stared  out  into  the  rain ;  the  bare 
branches  of  the  trees  whipped  against  one  another  in 
the  wind,  but  she  did  not  see  them.  She  leaned  her  fore 
head  on  the  glass,  listening  to  the  golden  voice.  A 
warm  wave  seemed  to  rise  in  her  breast,  a  wave  of 
cosmic  satisfaction  in  this  vitality  that  was  hers,  be 
cause  he  was  hers!  Her  eyes  blurred  so  with  emotion 
that  she  did  not  see  the  rocking  branches  in  the  rain. 
All  the  hardness  of  her  face  melted,  under  those  melting 
cadences  into  exultant  maternity: 

"  Or  leave  a  kiss  but  in  the  cup, 
And  I'll  not  look  for  wine; 
The  thirst  that  from  the  soul — " 

She    smiled,    then   turned    and    knocked    peremptorily 
at  her  son's  door. 

Blair,  pausing  in  his  song  to  comment  on  a  thirst 
that  rises  otherwhere  than  in  the  soul,  roared  out  a 
jolly  command  to  "come  in!"  but  for  an  instant  he  did 
not  realize  who  stood  on  the  threshold;  nor  was  his 
mother  able  to  distinguish  him  in  the  group  of  men 
lounging  about  a  room  dim  with  tobacco  smoke.  He 
was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  door,  pulling  a  some 
what  reluctant  cork  from  a  bottle  of  sherry  gripped 
between  his  knees. 

Blair  was  immensely  popular  at  college,  not  only 
because  of  the  easy  generosities  of  his  wealth, — which 
were  often  only  a  pleasant  form  of  selfishness  that 
brought  the  fellows  about  him  as  honey  brings  flies, 
but  because  of  a  certain  sympathetic  quality  of  mind, 
a  genius  for  companionship  that  was  almost  a  genius 
for  friendship.  Now,  his  room  was  full  of  men.  One 
of  his  guests  was  sitting  on  the  window-sill,  kicking 
his  heels  and  swaying  rhythmically  back  and  forth  to 
the  twang  of  his  banjo.  One  had  begun  to  read  aloud 
with  passionate  emphasis  a  poem,  of  which  happily 
Mrs.  Maitland  did  not  catch  the  words;  all  of  them  were 
smoking. 

134 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

The  door  opened,  but  no  one  entered.  One  of  the 
young  men,  feeling  the  draught,  glanced  languidly  over 
his  shoulder, — and  got  on  his  feet  with  extraordinary 
expedition!  He  said  something  under  his  breath. 
But  it  was  the  abrupt  silence  of  the  room  that  made 
Blair  turn  round.  It  did  not  need  his  stammering 
dismay,  his  half-cringing — "  Clear  out,  will  you,  you 
fellows  " — to  get  the  men  out  of  the  room.  They  did 
not  know  who  she  was,  but  they  knew  she  was  Some 
body.  She  did  not  speak,  but  the  powerful  personality 
seemed  to  sweep  in  and  clear  the  atmosphere  of  its 
sickly  triviality.  She  stood  blocking  up  the  doorway, 
looking  at  them;  they  were  mostly  Seniors,  but  there 
was  not  a  man  among  them  who  did  not  feel  foolish 
under  that  large  and  quiet  look.  Then  she  stepped  a 
little  aside.  The  movement  was  unmistakable.  They 
jostled  one  another  like  a  flock  of  sheep  in  their  effort 
to  get  away  quickly.  Somebody  muttered,  "Good 
afternoon —  but  the  others  were  speechless.  They 
left  a  speechless  host  behind  them. 

Mrs.  Maitland,  her  rusty  bonnet  very  much  on  one 
side,  watched  them  go;  then  she  closed  the  door  be 
hind  them,  and  stood  looking  at  her  son  who  was  still 
holding  the  corkscrew  in  his  hands.  Her  feet  were 
planted  firmly  wide  apart,  her  hands  were  on  her  hips; 
her  eyebrow  was  lifting  ominously.  "Well?"  she  said; 
with  the  echo  of  that  golden  voice  still  in  her  ears,  her 
own  voice  was,  even  to  herself,  unexpectedly  mild. 

"  I  didn't  expect  you,"  Blair  managed  to  say. 

"I  inferred  as  much,"  she  said  dryly;  "so  this  is  the 
way  you  keep  up  with  your  classes  ?" 

"There  are  no  lectures  at  this  time  of  day,"  he  said. 
"If  you  had  been  so  kind,  my  dear  mother,  as  to  let 
me  know  you  were  coming" — he  spoke  with  that  exag 
gerated  and  impertinent  politeness  that  confesses  fright ; 
"I  would  have  met  you.  Instead  of  that,  you — you — 
you  burst  in — "  he  was  getting  whiter  and  whiter.  The 

135 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

thought  that  the  men  had  seen  the  unkempt  figure, 
the  powerful  face,  the  straggling  locks  of  hair,  the  bare 
hands, — seen,  in  fact,  the  unlovely  exterior  of  a  large 
and  generous  nature,  a  nature  which,  alas,  he,  her  son, 
had  never  seen;  that  they  had  seen  her,  and  guessed, 
of  course,  that  she  was  his  mother,  was  positively  un 
endurable  to  Blair.  j  He  tried  to  speak,  but  his  voice 
shook  into  silence.  His  dismay  was  not  entirely  ignoble; 
the  situation  was  excruciating  to  a  man  whose  feeling 
for  beauty  was  a  form  of  religion;  his  mortification  had 
in  it  the  element  of  horror  for  a  profaned  ideal;  his 
mother  was  an  esthetic  insult  to  motherhood. 

"I've  no  fault  to  find  with  your  friends  being  here, 
if  they  don't  interfere  with  your  studies,"  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  said. 

"  Oh,"  he  said  rather  blankly;  then  his  shame  of  her 
stung  him  into  fury:  "why  didn't  you  tell  me  that 
you—" 

"I've  been  to  see  the  Dean,"  she  said;  "sit  down 
there  and  listen  to  me.  Here,  give  me  a  chair;  not 
that  pincushion  thing!  Give  me  a  chair  fit  for  a 
man  to  sit  on, — if  you've  got  one  in  this  upholstery 
shop." 

Blair,  with  trembling  hands,  pushed  a  mahogany 
chair  to  her  side.  He  did  not  sit  down  himself.  He 
stood  with  folded  arms  and  downcast  eyes. 

She  was  not  unkind;  she  was  not  even  ungentle. 
She  was  merely  explicit :  he  was  a  fool.  All  this  busi 
ness, — she  pointed  to  the  bottle  and  the  empty  g1  asses; 
all  this  business  was  idiotic,  it  was  a  boy's  foolishness. 
"It  shows  how  young  you  are,  Blair,"  she  said  kindly, 
"though  the  Lord  knows  you  are  old  enough  in  years 
to  have  some  sense!"  But  if  he  kept  the  foolishness 
up,  and  this  other  tomfoolery  on  account  of  which  she 
had  had  to  leave  the  Works  and  spend  her  valuable  time 
talking  to  the  Dean,  why,  he  might  be  expelled.  He 
would  certainly  be  suspended.  And  that  would  put 

136 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

off  his  getting  into  business  for  still  another  year.  "And 
you  are  twenty- four!"  she  said. 

While  she  talked  she  looked  about  her,  and  the  mother- 
softness  began  to  die  out  of  her  eyes.  Sarah  Maitland 
had  never  seen  her  son's  room;  she  saw,  now,  soft- 
green  hangings,  great  bowls  of  roses,  a  sideboard  with 
an  array  of  glasses,  a  wonderfully  carved  ivory  jar 
standing  on  a  teak-wood  table  whose  costliness,  even 
to  her  uneducated  eyes,  was  obvious.  Suddenly  she 
put  on  her  spectacles,  and  still  talking,  rose,  and  walked 
slowly  about  the  room  glancing  at  the  water-colors. 
By  and  by,  just  at  the  end  of  her  harangue, — to  which 
Blair  had  listened  in  complete  silence, — she  paused 
before  a  row  of  photographs  on  the  mantelpiece;  then, 
in  the  midst  of  a  sentence,  she  broke  off  with  an  ex 
clamation,  leaned  forward,  and  seizing  a  photograph, 
tore  it  in  two,  across  the  smiling  face  and  the  bare  bosom, 
across  the  lovely,  impudent  line  of  the  thigh,  and  flung 
it  underfoot.  "Shame  on  you!  to  let  your  mother 
see  a  thing  like  that!" 

"  I  didn't  ask  my  mother  to  see  it." 

"If  you  have  thoughts  like  this,"  she  said,  "Eliza 
beth  did  well  to  throw  you  over  for  David." 

Blair  lifted  one  eyebrow  with  a  glimmer  of  interest. 
"Oh,  David  has  got  her,  has  he?" 

"  At  any  rate,  he's  a  man  !  He  doesn't  live  like  this" — 
she  made  a  contemptuous  gesture;  "muddling  with 
silks  and  paintings,  and  pictures  of  bad  women!  What 
kind  of  a  room  is  this  for  a  man  ?  Full  of  flowers  and 
stinking  jars,  and  cushions,  and  truck?  It's  more  fit 
for  a — a  creature  like  that  picture" — she  set  her  heel 
on  the  smiling  face;  "than  for  a  man!  I  ought  never 
to  have  sent  you  here.  I  ought  to  have  put  you  to 
puddling."  She  looked  at  him  in  growing  agitation. 
"My  God!  Blair,  what  are  you — living  this  way,  with 
silks  and  perfumery  and  clay  baby  dolls?  You've  got 
no  guts  to  you!  I  didn't  mind  your  making  a  fool  of 

137 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

yourself;  that's  natural;  nobody  can  get  to  be  a  man 
till  he's  been  a  fool;  but  this — "  She  stood  there,  with 
one  hand  on  the  mantelpiece  beside  the  row  of  photo 
graphs  and  bits  of  carving  and  little  silver  trinkets, 
and  looked  at  him  in  positive  fright.  "And  you  are 
my  son,"  she  said. 

The  torrent  of  her  angry  shame  suddenly  swept  Blair's 
manhood  of  twenty-four  years  away;  her  very  power 
stripped  him  bare  as  a  baby ;  it  almost  seemed  as  if  she 
had  sucked  his  masculinity  out  of  him  and  incorporated 
it  into  herself.  He  stood  there  like  a  cringing  school 
boy  expecting  to  be  whipped.  "One  of  the  men  gave 
me  that  picture;  I — " 

"You  ought  to  have  slapped  his  face!  Listen  tome: 
you  are  going  to  be  looked  after, — do  you  hear  me? 
You  are  going  to  be  watched.  Do  you  understand?" 
She  gathered  up  the  whole  row  of  photographs,  innocent 
and  offensive  together,  and  threw  them  into  the  fire. 
"You  are  going  to  walk  straight,  or  you  are  coming 
home,  and  going  to  work." 

It  was  a  match  to  gunpowder;  in  an  instant  Blair's 
temper,  the  terrific  temper  of  the  uniformly  and  lazily 
amiable  man,  flashed  into  furious  words. 

Stammering  with  rage,  he  told  her  what  he  thought 
of  her;  to  record  his  opinion  is  not  for  edification.  Even 
Sarah  Maitland  flinched  before  it.  She  left  him  with  a 
bang.  She  saw  the  Dean  again,  and  her  recommenda 
tions  of  espionage  were  so  extreme  and  so  unwise  that 
he  found  himself  taking  Blair's  part  in  his  effort  to  save 
the  young  man  from  the  most  insolent  intrusion  upon 
his  privacy.  She  went  back  to  Mercer  in  a  whirl  of 
anger  but  in  somber  silence.  She  had  scorched  and  stung 
under  the  truths  her  son  told  her  about  herself;  she  had 
bled  under  the  lies  she  had  told  him  as  to  her  feeling  for 
him.  She  looked  ten  years  older  for  that  hour  in  his  room. 
But  she  had  nothing  to  say.  She  told  poor,  frightened 
Nannie  that  she  had  "seen  Master  Blair";  she  added 

138 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

that  he  was  a  fool.     To  Robert  Ferguson  she  was  a 
little  more  explicit : 

"  Blair  has  not  been  behaving  himself ;  he's  in  debt ;  he 
has  been  gambling.  See  that  all  these  bills  are  paid. 
Tell  Watson  to  give  him  a  hundred  dollars  more  a  month ; 
I  won't  have  him  running  in  debt  in  this  way.  Now 
what  about  the  Duluth  order?" 


CHAPTER  XII 

MR.  FERGUSON  made  no  protest  in  regard  to  Blair's 
increased  allowance.  "  If  his  mother  wants  to  ruin  him, 
it  isn't  my  business,"  he  said.  The  fact  was,  he  had  not 
recovered  from  his  astonished  resentment  at  Sarah 
Maitland's  joke  in  Mrs.  Richie's  parlor.  He  thought 
about  it  constantly,  and  asked  himself  whether  he  did 
not  owe  his  neighbor  an  apology  of  some  kind.  The 
difficulty  was  to  know  what  kind,  for  after  all  he  was 
perfectly  innocent!  "Such  an  idea  never  entered  my 
head,"  he  thought  angrily;  "but  of  course,  if  there 
has  been  anything  in  my-  conduct  to  put  it  into  Mrs. 
Maitland's  head,  I  ought  to  be  thrashed!  Perhaps 
I'd  better  not  go  in  next  door  more  than  two  or  three 
times  a  week?"  So,  for  once,  Robert  Ferguson  was 
distinctly  out  with  his  employer,  and  when  she  told  him 
to  see  that  Blair  had  a  hundred  dollars  more  a  month, 
he  said,  in  his  own  mind,  "be  hanged  to  him!  What 
difference  does  it  make  to  me  if  she  ruins  him?"  and 
held  his  tongue — until  the  next  day.  Then  he  barked 
out  a  remonstrance:  "I  suppose  you  know  your  own 
business,  but  if  /  had  a  boy  I  wouldn't  increase  his  allow 
ance  because  he  was  in  debt." 

"I  want  to  keep  him  from  getting  in  debt  again," 
she  explained,  her  face  falling  into  troubled  lines. 

"If  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so — having  been  a  boy 
myself,  that's  not  the  way  to  do  it." 

Sarah  Maitland  flung  herself  back  in  her  chair,  and 
struck  the  desk  with  her  fist.  "  I  am  at  my  wit's  end  to 
know  what  to  do  about  him !  My  idea  has  been  to  make 

140 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

a  man  of  him,  by  giving  him  what  he  wants,  not  making 
him  fuss  over  five-cent  pieces.  He's  had  everything; 
he's  never  heard  'no'  in  his  life.  And  yet — look  at 
him!" 

"That's  the  trouble  with  him.  He's  had  too  much. 
He  needs  a  few  no's.  But  he's  like  most  rich  boys; 
there  isn't  one  rich  man's  son  in  ten  who  is  worth  his 
salt.  If  he  were  my  boy,"  said  Robert  Ferguson,  with 
that  infallibility  which  everybody  feels  in  regard  to  the 
way  other  people's  children  should  be  brought  up,  "if 
he  were  my  son,  I'd  put  him  to  work  this  summer." 

Mrs.  Maitland  blew  her  lips  out  in  a  great  sigh;  then 
nibbled  her  forefinger,  staring  with  blank  eyes  straight 
ahead  of  her.  She  was  greatly  perplexed.  "  I'll  think  it 
over,"  she  said;  "I'll  think  it  over.  Hold  on;  what's 
yo'ur  hurry?  I  want  to  ask  you  something:  your 
neighbor  there,  Mrs.  Richie,  seems  to  be  a  very  attractive 
woman;  'fair  and  forty,'  as  the  saying  is — only  I  guess 
she's  nearer  fifty?  But  she's  mighty  good-looking, 
whatever  her  age  is." 

The  color  came  into  Robert  Ferguson's  face;  this  time 
he  was  really  offended.  Mrs.  Maitland  was  actually 
venturing —  "I  have  never  noticed  her  looks/'  he 
said  stiffly,  and  rose. 

"It  just  struck  me  when  I  caught  you  in  there  the 
other  day,"  she  ruminated;  "what  do  you  know 
about  her?"  Buried  deep  in  the  casual  question  was 
another  question,  but  Robert  Ferguson  did  not  hear  it; 
she  was  not  going  to  venture !  He  was  so  relieved,  that 
he  was  instantly  himself  again.  He  told  her  briefly 
what  little  he  knew:  Mrs.  Richie  was  a  widow;  hus 
band  dead  many  years.  "I  have  an  idea  he  was  a 
crooked  stick, — more  from  what  she  hasn't  said  than 
what  she  has  said.  There's  a  friend  of  hers  I  meet 
once  in  a  while  at  her  house,  a  Doctor  King,  and  he 
intimated  to  me  that  her  husband  was  a  bad  lot.  It 
appears  he  hurt  their  child,  when  he  was  drunk.  She 

141 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

never  forgave  him.  I  don't  blame  her,  I'm  sure;  the 
baby  died.  It  was  after  the  death  of  the  husband  that 
she  adopted  David.  She  has  no  relations  apparently; 
some  friends  in  Old  Chester,  I  believe ;  this  Doctor  King 
is  one  of  'em." 

"  Is  she  going  to  marry  him?"  Mrs.  Maitland  said. 

"There  might  be  objections  on  the  part  of  the  present 
incumbent,"  he  said,  with  his  meager  smile. 

Mrs.  Maitland  admitted  that  the  doctor's  wife  pre 
sented  difficulties;  "but  perhaps  she'll  die,"  she  said, 
cheerfully;  "  I'm  interested  to  know  that  Mrs.  Richie  has 
friends;  I  was  wondering — "  She  did  not  say  what  she 
wondered.  "She*  s  a  nice  woman,  Robert  Ferguson, 
and  a  good  woman,  and  a  good-looking  woman,  too; 
'fair  and' — well,  say  'fifty'!  And  if  you  had  any 
sense — " 

But  this  time  Robert  Ferguson  really  did  get  out  of 
the  office. 

His  advice  about  Blair,  however,  seemed  superfluous. 
So  far  as  behavior  went,  Mrs.  Maitland  had  no  further 
occasion  to  increase  his  allowance.  His  remaining 
months  in  the  university  were  decorous  enough,  though 
his  scholarship  was  no  credit  to  him.  He  "squeaked 
through,"  as  he  expressed  it  to  his  sister,  gaily,  when 
she  came  east  to  see  him  graduate,  three  years  behind 
the  class  in  which  he  had  entered  college.  But  as  to 
his  conduct,  that  domiciliary  visit  had  hardened  him  into 
a  sort  of  contemptuous  common  sense.  And  his  an 
noyed  and  humiliated  manhood,  combined  with  his 
esthetic  taste,  sufficed,  also,  to  keep  things  fairly  peace 
ful  when  he  was  at  home,  which  was  rarely  for  more 
than  a  week  or  two  at  a  time.  Quarrels  with  his  mother 
had  become  excruciating  experiences,  like  discords  on 
the  piano;  they  set  his  teeth  on  edge,  though  they  never 
touched  his  heart.  To  avoid  them,  he  would,  he  told 
Nannie,  chuckling  at  her  horror, — "lie  like  the  devil!" 
His  lying,  however,  was  nothing  more  serious  than  a 

142 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

careful  and  entirely  insincere  politeness;  but  it  an 
swered  his  purpose,  and  "rows,"  as  he  called  them,  were 
very  rare;  although,  indeed,  his  mother  did  her  part 
in  avoiding  them,  too.  To  Sarah  Maitland,  a  difference 
with  her  son  meant  a  pang  at  the  very  center  of  her 
being — her  maternity;  her  heart  was  seared  by  it,  but 
her  taste  was  not  offended  because  she  had  no  taste. 
So,  for  differing  reasons,  peace  was  kept.  The  next 
fall,  after  a  summer  abroad,  Blair  went  back  to  the 
university  and  took  two  or  three  special  courses;  also 
he  began  to  paint  rather  seriously;  all  of  which  was  his 
way  of  putting  off  the  evil  day  of  settling  down  in  Mercer. 
Meantime,  life  grew  quite  vivid  to  his  sister.  Eliza 
beth  had  once  said  that  Nannie  was  "  born  an  old  maid  " ; 
and  certainly  these  tranquil,  gently  useless  years  of 
being  very  busy  about  nothing,  and  living  quite  alone 
with  her  stepmother,  had  emphasized  in  her  a  simplic 
ity  and  literalness  of  mind  that  was  sometimes  very 
amusing  to  the  other  three  friends.  At  any  rate,  hers 
was  a  pallid  little  personality — perhaps  it  could  not 
have  been  anything  else  in  the  household  of  a  woman 
like  Sarah  Maitland,  with  whom,  domestically,  it  was 
always  either  peace,  or  a  sword!  Nannie  was  incap 
able  of  anything  but  peace.  "You  are  a  'fraid-cat," 
Elizabeth  used  to  tell  her,  "but  you're  a  perfect  dear!" 
"Nannie  is  unscrupulously  good,"  Blair  said  once;  and 
her  soft  stubbornness  in  doing  anything  she  conceived 
to  be  her  duty,  warranted  his  criticism.  But  during 
the  first  year  that  David  and  Elizabeth  were  engaged, 
her  stagnant  existence  in  the  silent  old  house  began  to 
stir;  little  shocks  of  reality  penetrated  the  gentle  prim 
ness  of  her  thought,  and  she  came  creeping  out  into  the 
warmth  and  sunshine  of  other  people's  happiness;  in 
deed,  her  shy  appreciation  of  the  lovers'  experiences 
became  almost  an  experience  of  her  own,  so  closely  did 
she  nestle  to  all  their  emotions!  It  was  a  real  blow  to 
her  when  it  was  decided  that  David  should  enter  a 
10  143 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Philadelphia  hospital  as  an  interne.  "Won't  he  be  at 
home  even  for  the  long  vacations?"  Nannie  asked, 
anxiously;  when  she  was  told  that  hospitals  did  not 
give  "vacations,"  her  only  consolation  was  that  she 
would  have  to  console  Elizabeth. 

But  when  Robert  Ferguson  heard  what  was  going  to 
happen,  he  had  nothing  to  console  him.  "I'll  have  a 
love-sick  girl  on  my  hands,"  he  complained  to  Mrs. 
Richie.  "  You'll  have  to  do  your  share  of  it,"  he  barked 
at  her.  He  had  come  in  through  the  green  door  in  the 
garden  wall,  with  a  big  clump  of  some  perennial  in  his 
hands,  and  a  trowel  under  one  arm.  "Peonies  have  to 
be  thinned  out  in  the  fall,"  he  said  grudgingly,  "and  I 
want  to  get  rid  of  this  lot.  Where  shall  I  put  'em?" 

It  was  a  warm  October  afternoon,  and  Mrs.  Richie, 
who  had  been  sitting  on  the  stone  bench  under  the  big 
hawthorn  in  her  garden,  reading,  until  the  dusk  hid  her 
page,  looked  up  gratefully.  "You  are  robbing  your 
self;  I  believe  that  is  your  precious  white  peony!" 

"  It's  only  half  of  it,  and  I  get  as  much  good  out  of  it 
here  as  in  my  own  garden,"  he  grunted  (he  was  sitting 
on  his  heels  digging  a  hole  big  enough  for  a  clump  of 
peonies  with  a  trowel,  so  no  wonder  he  grunted);  "be 
sides,  it  improves  my  property  to  plant  perennials;  my 
next  tenant  may  appreciate  flowers,"  he  ended,  with 
the  reproving  significance  which  had  become  a  joke 
between  them. 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Richie,  sighing,  "I  don't  like  to 
think  of  that  'next  tenant. '  ' 

He  looked  up  at  her  a  little  startled.  "What  do  you 
mean?  You  are  not  going  to  Philadelphia  with  David 
next  April?" 

"Why,  you  didn't  suppose  I  would  let  David  go 
alone?" 

"What!  You  will  leave  Mercer?"  he  said.  In  his 
dismayed  astonishment  he  dropped  his  trowel  and 
stood  up. 

144 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Will  you  please  tell  me  why  I  should  stay  in  Mercer, 
when  David  is  in  Philadelphia?" 

Robert  Ferguson  was  silent;  then  he  tramped  the 
earth  in  around  the  roots  of  the  white  peony,  and  said, 
sullenly,  "It  never  occurred  to  me  that  you  would  go, 
too." 

"You'll  have  to  be  extra  nice  to  Elizabeth  when  we 
are  not  here,"  Mrs.  Richie  instructed  him.  David's 
mother  was  very  anxious  to  be  nice  to  Elizabeth  herself; 
which  was  a  confession,  though  she  did  not  know  it, 
of  her  old  misgivings  as  to  David's  choice. 

"Be  nice?  7?"  said  Mr.  Ferguson,  and  snorted; 
"did  you  ever  know  me  'nice'  ?" 

"Always,"  she  said,  smiling. 

But  he  would  not  smile;  he  went  back  to  his  garden 
for  some  more  roots;  when  he  returned  with  a  wedge 
taken  from  his  bed  of  lemon-lilies,  he  said  crossly,  "David 
can  manage  his  own  affairs;  he  doesn't  need  apron- 
strings!  I  think  I've  mentioned  that  to  you  before?" 

"I  think  I  recall  some  such  reference,"  she  admitted, 
her  voice  trembling  with  friendly  amusement. 

But  he  went  on  growling  and  barking:  "Foolish 
woman!  to  try  the  experiment  at  your  age,  of  living  in 
a  strange  place!" 

At  that  she  laughed  outright :  "That  is  the  nicest  way 
in  the  world  to  tell  a  friend  you  will  miss  her." 

Robert  Ferguson  did  not  laugh.  In  fact,  as  the  win 
ter  passed  and  the  time  drew  near  for  the  move  to 
be  made,  nobody  laughed  very  much.  Certainly  not 
the  two  young  people;  since  David  had  left  the  medical 
school  he  had  worked  in  Mercer's  infirmary,  and  now 
they  both  felt  as  if  the  world  would  end  for  them  when 
they  ceased  to  see  each  other  several  times  a  day.  David 
did  his  best  to  be  cheerful  about  it;  in  fact,  with  that 
common  sense  of  his  which  his  engagement  had  accentu 
ated,  he  was  almost  too  cheerful.  The  hospital  service 
would  be  a  great  advantage,  he  said.  So  great  that 

145 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

perhaps  the  three  years'  engagement  to  which  they  were 
looking  forward, — because  David's  finances  would  prob 
ably  not  be  equal  to  a  wife  before  that ;  the  three  years 
might  be  shortened  to  two.  But  to  be  parted  for  two 
years — it  was"practically  parting,  for  visits  don't  amount 
to  anything;  "it's  tough,"  said  David.  "It's  terrific!" 
Elizabeth  said. 

"Oh,  well,"  David  reminded  her,  "two  years  is  a 
lot  better  than  three." 

It  was  curious  to  see  how  Love  had  developed  these 
two  young  creatures:  Elizabeth  had  sprung  into  swift 
and  glowing  womanhood;  with  triumphant  candor 
her  conduct  confessed  that  she  had  forgotten  every 
thing  but  Love.  She  showed  her  heart  to  David,  and 
to  her  little  world,  as  freely  as  a  flower  that  has  opened 
overnight — a  rose,  still  wet  with  dew,  that  bares  a  warm 
and  fragrant  bosom  to  the  sun.  David  had  matured, 
too;  but  his  maturity  was  of  the  mind  rather  than  the 
body;  manhood  suddenly  fell  upon  him  like  a  cloak,  and 
because  his  sense  of  humor  had  always  been  a  little 
defective,  it  was  a  somewhat  heavy  cloak,  which  hid 
and  even  hampered  the  spontaneous  freedom  of  youth. 
He  was  deeply  and  passionately  in  love,  but  his  face 
fell  into  lines  of  responsibility  rather  than  passion ;  lines, 
even,  of  care.  He  grew  markedly  older;  he  thought 
incessantly  of  how  soon  he  would  be  able  to  marry,  and 
always  in  connection  with  his  probable  income  and  his 
possible  expenses.  Helena  Richie  was  immensely  proud 
of  this  sudden,  serious  manhood;  but  Elizabeth's  uncle 
took  it  as  a  matter  of  course; — had  he  not,  himself, 
ceased  to  be  an  ass  at  twenty?  Why  shouldn't  David 
Richie  show  some  sense  at  twenty-five ! 

As  for  Elizabeth,  she  simply  adored.  Perhaps  she 
was,  once  in  a  while,  a  little  annoyed  at  the  rather 
ruthless  power  with  which  David  would  calmly  override 
some  foolish  wish  of  hers;  and  sometimes  there  would 
be  a  gust  of  temper, — but  it  always  yielded  at  his  look 

146 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

or  touch.  When  he  was  not  near  her,  when  she  could 
not  see  the  speechless  passion  in  his  eyes,  or  feel  the 
tremor  of  his  lips  when  they  answered  the  demand  of 
hers,  then  the  anger  lasted  longer.  Once  or  twice, 
when  he  was  away  from  home,  his  letters,  with  their 
laconic  taking  of  her  love  for  granted,  made  her  sharply 
displeased;  but  when  he  came  back,  and  kissed  her, 
she  forgot  everything  but  his  arms.  Curiously  enough, 
the  very  completeness  of  her  surrender  kept  him  so 
entirely  reverent  of  her  that  people  who  did  not  know 
him  might  have  thought  him  cold — but  Elizabeth  knew! 
She  knew  his  love,  even  when,  as  she  fulminated  against 
the  misery  of  being  left  alone,  David  merely  said,  briefly, 
"Oh,  well,  two  years  is  a  lot  better  than  three." 

The  two  years  of  absence  were  to  begin  in  April.  It 
was  in  February  that  Robert  Ferguson  was  told  defi 
nitely  just  when  his  tenant  would  terminate  her  lease; 
he  received  the  news  in  absolute  silence.  Mrs.  Richie's 
note  came  at  breakfast;  he  read  it,  then  went  into  his 
library  and  shut  the  door.  He  sat  down  at  his  writing- 
table,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  an  unlighted  cigar  be 
tween  his  teeth.  He  sat  there  nearly  an  hour.  Then, 
throwing  the  cigar  into  his  waste-basket,  he  knocked 
his  glasses  off  with  a  bewildered  gesture;  "Well,  I'll  be 
hanged,"  he  said,  softly.  It  was  at  that  moment  that 
he  forgave  Mrs.  Maitland  her  outrageous  joke  of  more 
than  a  year  before.  "I've  always  known  that  woman 
was  no  fool,"  he  said,  smiling  ruefully  at  the  remem 
brance  of  his  anger  at  Sarah  Maitland's  advice.  "It 
was  darned  good  advice!"  he  said;  but  he  looked  posi 
tively  dazed.  "And  I've  always  said  I  wouldn't  give 
Life  the  chance  to  play  another  trick  on  me!"  he  re 
flected;  "well,  I  won't.  This  is  no  silly  love-affair; 
it's  good  common  sense."  Ten  minutes  later,  as  he 
started  for  his  office,  he  caught  sight  of  his  face  in 
the  mirror  in  the  hall.  He  had  lifted  one  hand  to 
take  his  hat  from  the  rack,  but  as  he  suddenly  saw 

147 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

himself,  he  stood  stock-still,  with  upraised  arm  and 
extended  fingers;  Robert  Ferguson  had  probably  not 
been  really  aware  of  his  reflection  in  a  looking-glass  for 
twenty-five  years.  He  saw  now  a  lean,  lined,  sad  face, 
a  morose  droop  of  thin  and  bitter  lips;  he  saw  gray 
hair  standing  up  stiffly  above  a  careworn  forehead;  he 
saw  kind,  troubled  eyes.  And  as  he  looked,  he  frowned. 
"I'm  an  ugly  cuss,"  he  said  to  himself,  sighing;  "and 
I  look  sixty."  In  point  of  fact,  he  was  nearly  fifty. 
"But  so  is  she,"  he  added,  defiantly,  and  took  down 
his  hat.  "Only,  she  looks  forty."  And  then  he  thought 
of  Mrs.  Maitland's  "fair  and  fifty,"  and  smiled,  in 
spite  of  himself.  "Yes,  she  is  rather  good-looking," 
he  admitted. 

And  indeed  she  was;  Mrs.  Richie's  quiet  life  with 
her  son  had  kept  her  forehead  smooth,  and  her  eyes — 
eyes  the  color  of  a  brook  which  loiters  in  shady  places 
over  last  year's  leaves  —  softly  clear.  There  was  a 
gentle  placidity  about  her;  the  curious,  shy  hesitation, 
the  deep,  half-frightened  sadness,  which  had  been  so 
marked  when  her  landlord  knew  her  first,  had  disap 
peared;  sometimes  she  even  showed  soft  gaieties  of 
manner  or  speech  which  delighted  her  moody  neighbor 
to  the  point  of  making  him  laugh.  And  laughing  had 
all  the  charm  of  novelty  to  poor  Robert  Ferguson.  "  I 
never  dreamed  of  her  going  away,"  he  said  to  himself. 
Well,  yes;  certainly  Mrs.  Maitland  had  some  sense, 
after  all.  When,  a  week  later,  blundering  and  abrupt, 
he  referred  to  Mrs.  Maitland's  "sense,"  Mrs.  Richie 
could  not  at  first  understand  what  he  was  talking 
about.  "She  'knew  more  than  you  gave  her  credit 
for '  ?  I  thought  you  gave  her  credit  for  knowing  every 
thing!  Oh,  you  don't  want  me  to  leave  Mercer?  I 
don't  see  the  connection.  /  don't  know  everything! 
But  you  are  very  flattering,  I'm  sure.  I  am  a  'good 
tenant,'  I  suppose?" 

"Please  don't  go." 

148 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

She  laughed  at  what  she  thought  was  his  idea  of  a 
joke;  then  said,  with  half  a  sigh,  that  she  did  not 
know  any  one  in  Philadelphia;  "when  David  isn't  at 
home  I  shall  be  pretty  lonely,"  she  said. 

"  Please  don't  go,"  he  said  again,  in  a  low  voice.  They 
were  sitting  before  the  fire  in  Mrs.  Richie's  parlor;  the 
glass  doors  of  the  plant-room  were  open, — that  plant- 
room,  which  had  been  his  first  concession  to  her;  and 
the  warm  air  of  the  parlor  was  fragrant  with  blossoming 
hyacinths.  There  was  a  little  table  between  them,  with 
a  bowl  of  violets  on  it,  and  a  big  lamp.  Robert  Ferguson 
rose,  and  stood  with  his  hands  behind  him,  looking 
down  at  her.  His  hair,  in  a  stiff  brush  above  his  fore 
head,  was  quite  gray,  but  his  face  in  its  unwonted  emo 
tion  seemed  quivering  with  youth.  He  knocked  off 
his  glasses  irritably.  "  I  never  know  how  to  say  things," 
he  said,  in  a  low  voice;  "but — please  don't  go." 

Mrs.  Richie  stared  at  him  in  amazement. 

"  I  think  we'd  better  get  married,"  he  said. 

"Mr.  Ferguson!1' 

"I  think  I've  cared  about  you  ever  since  you  came 
here,  but  I  am  such  a  fool  I  didn't  know  it  until  Mrs. 
Maitland  said  that  absurd  thing  last  fall." 

"I — I  don't  know  what  you  mean!"  she  parried, 
breathlessly;  "at  any  rate,  please  don't  say  anything 
more  about  it." 

"  I  have  to  say  something  more."  He  sat  down  again 
with  the  air  of  one  preparing  for  a  siege.  "I've  got  sev 
eral  things  to  say.  First,  I  want  to  find  out  my  chances  ?" 

"You  haven't  any." 

His  face  moved.  He  put  on  his  glasses  carefully, 
with  both  hands.  "Mrs.  Richie,  is  there  any  one  else? 
If  so,  I'll  quit.  I  know  you  will  answer  straight;  you 
are  not  like  other  women.  Is  there  anybody  else?  That — 
that  Old  Chester  doctor  who  comes  to  see  you  once  in  a 
while,  I  understand  he's  a  widower  now;  wife's  just 
died;  and  if—" 

149 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

" There  is  nobody;   never  anybody." 

"Ah!"  he  said,  triumphantly;  then  frowned:  "If 
your  attachment  to  your  husband  makes  you  say  I 
haven't  any  chance — but  it  can't  be  that." 

Her  eyes  suddenly  dilated.  "Why  not?  Why  do 
you  say  it  can't  be  that?"  she  said  in  a  frightened  voice. 

"  I  somehow  got  the  impression — forgive  me  if  I  am 
saying  anything  I  oughtn't  to;  but  I  had  kind  of  an 
idea  that  you  were  not  especially  happy  with  him." 

She  was  silent. 

"But  even  if  you  were,"  he  went  on,  "it  is  so  many 
years;  I  don't  mean  to  offend  you,  but  a  woman  isn't 
faithful  to  a  memory  for  so  many  years!"  he  looked  at 
her  incredulously ;" not  even  you,  I  think." 

"Such  a  thing  is  possible,"  she  told  him  coldly;  she 
had  grown  very  pale.  "  But  it  is  not  because  of — of  my 
husband  that  I  say  I  shall  never  marry  again." 

He  interrupted  her.  "If  it  isn't  a  dead  man  nor  a 
live  man  that's  ahead  of  me,  then  it  seems  to  me  you 
can't  say  I  haven't  any  chance — unless  I  am  personally 
offensive  to  you?"  There  was  an  almost  child-like 
consternation  in  his  eyes;  "am  I?  Of  course  I  know  I 
am  a  bear." 

"Oh,  please  don't  say  things  like  that!"  she  protested. 
"A  bear?  You?  Why,  you  are  just  my  good,  kind 
friend  and  neighbor;  but — " 

"Ah!"  he  said,  "that  scared  me  for  a  minute!  Well, 
when  I  understood  what  was  the  matter  with  me  (I 
didn't  understand  until  about  a  week  ago),  I  said  to 
myself,  '  If  there's  nobody  ahead  of  me,  that  woman  shall 
be  my  wife.'  Of  course,  I  am  not  talking  sentimen 
talities  to  you;  we  are  not  David  and  Elizabeth!  I'm 
fifty,  and  you  are  not  far  from  it.  But  I — I — I'm  hard 
hit,  Mrs.  Richie;"  his  voice  trembled,  and  he  twitched 
off  his  glasses  with  more  than  usual  ferocity. 

Mrs.  Richie  rose;  "Mr.  Ferguson,"  she  said,  gently, 
"I  do  appreciate  the  honor  you  do  m3,  but — " 

150 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Don't  say  a  thing  like  that;  it's  foolish,"  he  inter 
rupted,  frowning;  "what  'honor'  is  it,  to  a  woman  like 
you,  to  have  an  ugly,  bad-mannered  fellow  like  me, 
want  you  for  a  wife  ?  Why,  how  could  I  help  it !  How 
could  any  man  help  it  ?  I  don't  know  what  Dr.  King 
is  thinking  of,  that  he  isn't  sitting  on  your  doorsteps 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  ask  you!  I  ought  to  have 
asked  you  long  ago.  I  can't  imagine  why  I  didn't, 
except  that  I  supposed  we  would  go  on  always  living 
next  door  to  each  other.  And — and  I  thought  any 
thing  like  this,  was  over  for  me.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Richie,  please 
sit  down,  and  let  me  finish  what  I  have  to  say." 

"There  is  no  use,  Mr.  Ferguson,"  she  said;  but  she 
sat  down,  her  face  falling  into  lines  of  sadness  that  made 
her  look  curiously  old. 

"There  isn't  anybody  ahead  of  me:  so  far,  so  good. 
Now  as  to  my  chances;  of  course  I  realize  that  I  haven't 
any, — to-day.  But  there's  to-morrow,  Mrs.  Richie; 
and  the  day  after  to-morrow.  There's  next  week,  and 
next  year; — and  I  don't  change.  Look  how  slow  I  was 
in  finding  out  that  I  wanted  you;  it's  taken  me  all  these 
years!  What  a  poor,  dull  fool  I  am!  Well,  I  know  it 
now;  and  you  know  it;  and  you  don't  personally  dislike 
me.  So  perhaps  some  day,"  his  harsh  face  was  sud 
denly  almost  beautiful ;  "some  day  you'll  be — my  wife!" 
he  said,  under  his  breath.  He  had  no  idea  that  he  was 
"talking  sentimentalities";  he  would  have  said  he  did 
not  know  how  to  be  sentimental.  But  his  voice  was  the 
voice  of  youth  and  passion. 

She  shook  her  head.  "No,"  she  said,  quietly;  "I 
can't  marry  you,  Mr.  Ferguson." 

"But  you  are  generally  so  reasonable,"  he  protested, 
astonished  and  wistful;  "why,  it  seems  to  me  that  you 
must  be  willing — after  a  while  ?  Here  we  are,  two  people 
getting  along  in  years,  and  our  children  have  made  a 
match  of  it;  and  we  are  used  to  each  other,  that's  a 
very  important  thing  in  marriage.  It's  just  plain  com- 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

mon  sense,  after  David  is  on  his  own  legs  in  the  hospital, 
for  us  to  join  forces.  Perhaps  in  the  early  summer? 
I  won't  be  unreasonably  urgent.  Surely" — he  was 
gaining  confidence  from  his  own  words — "surely  you 
must  see  how  sensible — " 

Involuntarily,  perhaps  through  sheer  nervousness, 
she  laughed.  "Mrs.  Maitland's  'sensible  arrangement'? 
No,  Mr.  Ferguson;  please  let  us  forget  all  about  this — " 

He  gave  his  snort  of  a  laugh.  "Forget?  Now  that 
isn't  sensible.  No,  you  dear,  foolish  woman;  whatever 
else  we  do,  we  shall  neither  of  us  forget  this.  This  is 
one  of  the  things  a  man  and  woman  don't  forget;"  in  his 
earnestness  he  pushed  aside  the  bowl  of  violets  on  the 
table  between  them,  and  caught  her  hand  in  both  of  his. 
"I'm  going  to  get  you  yet,"  he  said,  he  was  as  eager 
as  a  boy. 

Before  she  could  reply,  or  even  draw  back,  David 
opened  the  parlor  door,  and  stood  aghast  on  the  thresh 
old.  It  was  impossible  to  mistake  the  situation.  The 
moment  of  sharp  withdrawal  between  the  two  on  either 
side  of  the  table  announced  it,  without  the  uttering  of 
a  word;  David  caught  his  breath.  Robert  Ferguson 
could  have  wrung  the  intruder's  neck,  but  Mrs.  Richie 
clutched  at  her  son's  presence  with  a  gasp  of  relief: 
"  Oh — David !  I  thought  you  were  next  door ! " 

"I  was,"  David  said,  briefly;  "I  came  in  to  get  a 
book  for  Elizabeth." 

"We  were — talking,"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  trying  to 
laugh.  Mr.  Ferguson,  standing  with  his  back  to  the 
fire,  was  slowly  putting  on  his  glasses.  "But  we  had 
finished  our  discussion,"  she  ended  breathlessly. 

"For  the  moment,"  Mr.  Ferguson  said,  significantly; 
and  set  his  jaw. 

"Well,  David,  have  you  and  Elizabeth  decided  when 
she  is  to  come  and  see  us  in  Philadelphia?"  Mrs.  Richie 
asked,  her  voice  still  trembling. 

"She  says  she'll  come  East  whenever  Mr.  Ferguson  can 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

bring  her,"  David  said,  rummaging  among  the  books  on 
the  table.  "But  it's  a  pity  to  wait  as  long  as  that," 
he  added,  and  the  hint  in  his  words  was  inescapable. 
Robert  Ferguson  did  not  take  hints.  "I  think  I  can 
manage  to  come  pretty  soon,"  he  retorted. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

WHEN  Mr.  Ferguson  said  good  night,  David,  appar 
ently  unable  to  find  the  book  he  had  promised  to  take 
in  to  Elizabeth,  made  no  effort  to  help  his  mother  in  her 
usual  small  nightly  tasks  of  blowing  out  the  lamps, 
tidying  the  table,  folding  up  a  newspaper  or  two.  This 
was  not  like  David,  but  Mrs.  Richie  was  too  absorbed  to 
notice  her  son's  absorption.  Just  as  she  was  starting 
up-stairs,  he  burst  out :  "  Materna — " 

"Yes?     What  is  it?" 

He  gave  her  a  keenly  searching  look;  then  drew  a 
breath  of  relief,  and  kissed  her.  "Nothing,"  he  said. 

But  later,  as  he  lay  on  his  back  in  bed,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  head,  his  pipe  between  his  teeth, 
David  was  distinctly  angry.  "Of  course  she  doesn't 
care  a  hang  for  him,"  he  reflected;  "I  could  see  that; 
but  I  swear  I'll  go  to  Philadelphia  right  off."  Before 
he  slept  he  had  made  up  his  mind  that  was  the  best 
thing  to  do.  That  that  old  man,  gray  and  granite-faced, 
and  silent,  "that  old  codger,"  said  the  disrespectful  cub 
of  twenty-six,  "  should  take  advantage  of  friendship  to  be 
a  nuisance, — confound  him!"  said  David.  "The  idea 
of  his  daring  to  make  love  to  her!  I  wanted  to  show 
him  the  door."  As  for  his  mother,  even  if  she  didn't 
"care  a  hang,"  he  was  half  shocked,  half  hurt;  he  felt, 
as  all  young  creatures  do,  a  curious  repulsion  at  the  idea 
of  love-making  between  people  no  longer  young.  It 
hurt  his  delicacy,  it  almost  hurt  his  sense  of  reverence 
for  his  mother,  to  think  that  she  had  been  obliged  to 
listen  to  any  words  of  love.  "It's  offensive,"  4ie  said 

154 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

angrily;  "yes;  we'll  clear  out!     We'll  go  to  Philadelphia 
the  first  of  March,  instead  of  April." 

The  next  morning  he  suggested  his  plan  to  his  mother. 
"Could  you  pack  up  in  three  weeks,  Materna?"  he  said; 
"I  think  I'd  like  to  get  you  settled  before  I  go  to  the 
hospital."  Mrs.  Richie's  instant  acceptance  of  the 
change  of  date  made  him  more  annoyed  than  ever. 
"He  has  worried  her!"  he  thought  angrily;  "I  wonder 
how  long  this  thing  has  been  going  on?"  But  he  said 
nothing  to  her.  Nor  did  he  mean  to  explain  to  Eliza 
beth  just  why  he  must  shorten  their  last  few  weeks  of 
being  together.  It  would  not  be  fair  to  his  mother  to 
explain,  he  said  to  himself; — he  did  not  think  of  any 
unfairness  to  the  "old  codger."  He  was,  however,  a 
little  uneasy  at  the  prospect  of  breaking  the  fact  of  this 
earlier  departure  to  Elizabeth  without  an  explanation. 
Elizabeth  might  be  hurt;  she  might  say  that  he  didn't 
want  to  stay  with  her.  "She  knows  better!"  he  said 
to  himself,  grinning.  The  honest  truth  was,  and  he 
faced  it  with  placidity,  that  if  things  were  not  explained 
to  Elizabeth,  she  might  get  huffy,— this  was  David's 
word;  but  David  knew  how  to  check  that  "hufrlness" ! 

They  were  to  walk  together  that  afternoon,  and  he 
manceuvered  for  a  few  exquisite  minutes  alone  before 
they  went  out.  At  first  the  moments  were  not  very 
exquisite. 

"  Well !  What  happened  to  you  last  night  ?  I  thought 
you  were  going  to  bring  me  that  book!" 

"I  couldn't.     I  had  to  stay  at  home." 

"Why?" 

"Well;   Materna  wanted  me." 

Elizabeth  murmured  a  small,  cold  "Oh."  Then  she 
said,  "  Why  didn't  you  send  the  book  in  by  Uncle?" 

"  I  didn't  think  of  it,"  David  said  candidly. 

Elizabeth's  dimple  straightened.  "It  would  have 
been  polite  to  have  sent  me  a  message." 

"  I  took  it  for  granted  you'd  know  I  was  detained." 
155 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"You  take  too  much  for — "  she  began,  but  before  she 
could  utter  the  sharp  words  that  trembled  on  her  lips, 
he  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her;  instantly  the 
little  flame  of  temper  was  blown  out. 

"That's  the  worst  of  walking,"  David  said,  as  she  let 
him  draw  her  down  on  the  sofa  beside  him;  "  I  can't  kiss 
you  on  the  street." 

"Heavens,  I  should  hope  not!"  she  said.  Then,  for 
getting  what  she  thought  was  his  forget  fulness,  she  re 
laxed  within  his  arms,  sighing  with  bliss.  "  'Oh,  isn't 
it  joyful, — joyful, — joyful — "'  she  hummed  softly.  "I 
do  love  to  have  you  put  your  arms  around  me,  David! 
Isn't  is  wonderful  to  love  each  other  the  way  we  do? 
I  feel  so  sorry  for  other  girls,  because  they  aren't  engaged 
to  you;  poor  things!  Do  you  suppose  anybody  in  the 
world  was  ever  as  happy  as  I  am?" 

"You?"  said  David,  scornfully;  "you  don't  count  at 
all,  compared  to  me!"  Then  they  both  laughed  for  the 
sheer  foolishness  of  that  "  joyfulness,"  which  was  so 
often  on  Elizabeth's  lips.  But  David  sighed.  "Three 
years  is  a  devilish  long  time  to  wait." 

"Maybe  it  will  be  only  two!"  she  whispered,  her  soft 
lips  against  his  ear.  But  this  was  one  of  David's  prac 
tical  and  responsible  moments,  so  he  said  grimly,  "  Not 
much  hope  of  that." 

Elizabeth,  agreeing  sadly,  got  up  to  straighten  her 
hat  before  the  mirror  over  the  mantelpiece.  "It's 
hideously  long.  Oh,  if  I  were  only  a  rich  girl!" 

"Thank  Heaven  you  are  not!"  he  said,  with  such 
sudden  cold  incisiveness  that  she  turned  round  and 
looked  at  him.  "Do  you  think  I'd  marry  a  rich  wo 
man,  and  let  her  support  me  ?" 

"I  don't  see  why  she  shouldn't,  if  she  loved  you," 
Elizabeth  said  calmly;  "I  don't  see  that  it  matters 
which  has  the  money,  the  man  or  the  girl." 

"I  see,"  David  said;  "I've  always  felt  that  way — 
even  about  mother.  Materna  has  wanted  to  help  me 

156 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

out  lots  of  times,  and  I  wouldn't  let  her.  I  could  kick 
myself  now  when  I  think  how  often  I  have  to  put  my 
hand  in  her  pocket." 

"I  think,"  cried  Elizabeth,  "a  man  might  love  a  girl 
enough  to  live  on  her  money!" 

"I  don't,"  David  said,  soberly. 

"  Y/ell,"  said  Elizabeth,  "don't  worry.  I  haven't  a 
cent,  so  you  can't  put  your  hand  in  my  pocket!  Come, 
we  must  start.  I  want  to  go  and  see  Nannie  for  a 
minute,  and  Cherry-pie  says  I  must  be  in  before  dark, 
because  I  have  a  cold." 

"I  like  sitting  here  best,"  David  confessed,  but  pulled 
himself  up  from  the  sofa,  and  in  another  minute  Miss 
White,  peering  from  an  upper  window,  saw  them  walking 
off.  "Made  for  each  other!"  said  Cherry-pie,  nibbling 
with  happiness. 

They  had  almost  reached  Nannie's  before  David  said 
that — that  he  was  afraid  he  would  have  to  go  away  a 
month  before  he  had  planned.  When  he  was  most  in 
earnest,  his  usual  brevity  of  speech  fell  into  a  curtness 
that  might  have  seemed,  to  one  who  did  not  know  him, 
indifference.  Elizabeth  did  know  him,  but  even  to  her  the 
ensuing  explanation,  which  did  not  explain,  was,  through 
his  very  anxiety  not  to  offend  her,  provokingly  laconic. 

"  But  you  don't  go  on  duty  at  the  hospital  until  April," 
she  said  hotly.  "Why  do  you  leave  Mercer  the  first  of 
March?" 

"Materna  wants  time  to  get  settled." 

"Mrs.  Richie  told  me  only  yesterday  that  she  was 
going  to  a  hotel,"  Elizabeth  said;  "she  said  she  wasn't 
going  to  look  for  a  house  until  the  fall,  because  she  will 
be  at  the  seashore  this  summer.  It  certainly  doesn't 
take  a  month  to  find  a  hotel." 

"Well,  the  fact  is,  there  are  reasons  why  it  isn't  pleas 
ant  for  Materna  to  be  in  Mercer  just  now." 

"Not  pleasant  to  be  in  Mercer!  What  on  earth  do 
you  mean?" 

157 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"  I'm  afraid  I  can't  tell  you.     It's  her  affair." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  intrude,"  Elizabeth  said 
coldly. 

"Now,  Elizabeth,"  he  protested,  "that  isn't  a  nice 
thing  to  say." 

"Do  you  think  you've  been  saying  nice  things?  I  am 
perfectly  certain  that  you  would  never  hesitate  to  tell 
your  mother  any  of  my  reasons  for  doing  things!" 

"Elizabeth,  I  wouldn't  leave  Mercer  a  minute  before 
the  first  of  April,  if  I  wasn't  sure  it  was  best  for  Materna. 
You  know  that." 

"Oh,  go!"  she  said;  "go,  and  have  all  the  secrets  you 
want.  /  don't  care." 

"Elizabeth,  be  reasonable;   I — " 

But  she  had  left  him;  they  had  reached  the  Maitland 
house,  and,  pushing  aside  his  outstretched  hand,  she 
opened  the  iron  gate  herself,  slammed  it  viciously,  and 
ran  up  the  curving  steps  to  the  door.  As  she  waited 
for  Harris  to  answer  her  ring,  she  looked  back:  "I 
think  you  are  reasonable  enough  for  both  of  us;  please 
don't  let  me  ever  interfere  with  your  plans!"  She 
paused  a  minute  in  the  hall,  listening  for  a  following 
step; — it  did  not  come.  "Well,  if  he's  cross  he  can 
stay  outside!"  she  told  herself,  and  burst  into  the  par 
lor.  "Nannie!"  she  began, — "Oh,  I  beg  your  par 
don!"  she  said.  Blair  was  standing  on  the  hearth-rug, 
talking  vehemently  to  his  sister;  at  the  sound  of  the 
opening  door  he  wheeled  around  and  saw  her,  glowing, 
wounded,  and  amazingly  handsome.  "Elizabeth!"  he 
said,  staring  at  her.  And  he  kept  on  staring  while  they 
shook  hands.  They  were  a  handsome  pair,  the  tall, 
dark,  well-set-up  man,  and  the  girl  almost  as  tall  as  he, 
with  brown,  gilt-flecked  hair  blowing  about  a  vivid  face 
which  had  the  color,  in  the  sharp  February  afternoon,  of 
a  blush-rose. 

"Where's  David?"  Nannie  said. 

"  I  left  him  at  the  gate.     He's  coming  in  in  a  minute," 

158 


"I  THINK  YOU  ARE  REASONABLE  ENOUGH   FOR  BOTH  OF  US" 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Elizabeth  said;  and  turned  to  Blair:  " I  didn't  know  you 
had  come  home." 

Blair  explained  that  he  was  only  in  Mercer  for  a  day. 
"I'm  in  a  hole,"  he  said  drolly,  "and  I've  come  home 
to  have  Nannie  get  me  out." 

"Nannie  is  always  ready  to  get  people  out  of  holes;" 
Elizabeth  said,  but  her  voice  was  vague.  She  was 
listening  for  David's  step,  her  cheeks  beginning  to  burn 
with  mortification  at  his  delay. 

"Where  is  David?"  Nannie  demanded,  returning 
from  a  fruitless  search  for  him  in  the  hall. 

"He's  a  lucky  dog,"  Blair  said,  looking  at  the  charm 
ing,  angry  face  with  open  and  friendly  admiration. 

Elizabeth  shrugged  her  shoulders.  "I  don't  know 
about  his  luck.  By  the  way,  he  is  going  to  Philadelphia 
the  first  of  March,  Nannie,"  she  said  carelessly. 

"I  thought  he  didn't  have  to  go  until  April?"  Nannie 
sympathized. 

"  So  did  I.  Perhaps  he'll  tell  you  why  he  has  changed 
his  mind.  He  hasn't  deigned  to  give  me  his  reasons 
yet." 

And  Blair,  watching  her,  said  to  himself,  "Same  old 
Elizabeth!"  He  began  to  talk  to  her  in  his  gay,  teasing 
way,  but  she  was  not  listening ;  suddenly  she  interrupted 
him,  saying  that  she  must  go  home.  "I  thought  David 
was  coming  in,  but  I  suppose  he's  walking  up  and  down, 
waiting  for  me." 

"If  he  doesn't  know  which  side  his  bread  is  buttered, 
I'll  walk  home  with  you,"  Blair  said;  "and  Nancy  dear, 
while  I'm  gone,  you  see  Mother  and  do  your  best,  won't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  poor  Nannie  sighed,  "  but  I  do  wish — 

Blair  did  not  wait  to  hear  what  she  wished;  he  had 
eyes  only  for  this  self-absorbed  young  creature  who 
would  not  listen  when  he  spoke  to  her.  At  the  gate  she 
hesitated,  looked  hurriedly  about  her,  up  and  down  the 
squalid  street;  she  did  not  answer,  did  not  apparently 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

hear,  some  question  that  he  asked.  Blair  glanced  up 
and  down  the  street,  too.  "David  doesn't  appreciate 
his  opportunities,"  he  said. 

Elizabeth's  lip  tightened,  and  she  flung  up  her  head; 
the  rose  in  her  cheeks  was  drowned  in  scarlet.  She 
came  out  of  her  absorption,  and  began  to  sparkle  at  her 
companion ;  she  teased  him,  but  not  too  much ;  she  flat 
tered  him,  very  delicately;  she  fell  into  half-sentimental 
reminiscences  that  made  him  laugh,  then  stabbed  him 
gently  with  an  indifferent  word  that  showed  how  entirely 
she  had  forgotten  him.  And  all  the  time  her  eyes  were 
absent,  and  the  straight  line  in  her  cheek  held  the  dimple 
a  prisoner.  Blair,  who  had  begun  with  a  sort  of  good- 
natured,  rather  condescending  amusement  at  his  old 
playmate,  found  himself,  to  his  surprise,  on  his  mettle. 

"Don't  go  home  yet,"  he  said;    "let's  take  a  walk." 

"I'd  love  to!" 

"Mercer  seems  to  be  just  as  hideous  as  ever,"  Blair 
said;  "suppose  we  go  across  the  river,  and  get  away 
from  it?" 

She  agreed  lightly:  "Horrid  place."  At  the  corner, 
she  flashed  a  glance  down  the  side  street;  David  was 
not  to  be  seen. 

"Will  David  practise  here,  when  he  is  ready  to  put  out 
his  shingle?" 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  I  can't  keep  track  of  David's 
plans." 

"He  is  just  as  good  as  ever,  I  suppose?"  Blair  said, 
and  watched  her  delicate  lip  droop. 

"Better,  if  anything."  And  in  the  dusk,  as  they 
sauntered  over  the  old  bridge,  she  flung  out  gibe  after 
gibe  at  her  lover.  Her  checks  grew  hotter  and  hotter; 
it  was  like  tearing  her  own  flesh.  The  shame  of  it !  The 
rapture  of  it !  It  hurt  her  so  that  the  tears  stood  in  her 
eyes;  so  she  did  it  again,  and  yet  again.  "I  don't  pre 
tend  to  live  up  to  David,"  she  said. 

Blair,  with  a  laugh,  confessed  that  he  had  long  ago 

160 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

given  up  any  such  ambition  himself.  On  the  bridge 
they  stopped,  and  Blair  looked  back  at  the  town  lying 
close  to  the  water.  In  the  evening  dusk  lights  were 
pricking  out  all  along  the  shore ;  the  waste-lands  beyond 
the  furnaces  were  vague  with  night  mists,  faintly 
amethyst  in  the  east,  bronze  and  black  over  the  city. 
Here  and  there  in  the  brown  distances  flames  would 
suddenly  burst  out  from  unseen  stacks,  then  sink,  and 
the  shadows  close  again. 

"I  wish  I  could  paint  it,"  Blair  said  dreamily;  "Mer 
cer  from  the  bridge,  at  twilight,  is  really  beautiful." 

"I  like  the  bridge,"  Elizabeth  said,  "for  sentimental 
reasons.  (Now,"  she  added  to  herself,  "now,  I  am  a 
bad  woman;  to  speak  of  that  to  another  man  is  vile.) 
David  and  I,"  she  said,  significantly, — and  laughed. 

Even  Blair  was  startled  at  the  crudeness  of  the  allu 
sion.  "  I  didn't  suppose  David  ever  condescended  to  be 
spoony,"  he  said,  and  at  the  same  instant,  to  his  absolute 
amazement,  she  caught  his  arm  and  pulled  his  hand 
from  the  railing. 

"Don't  touch  that  place!"  she  cried;  Blair,  amused 
and  cynical,  laughed  under  his  breath. 

"I  see;  this  is  the  hallowed  spot  where  you  made 
our  friend  a  happy  man?" 

"  We'll  turn  back  now,  please,"  Elizabeth  said,  sud 
denly  trembling.  She  had  reached  the  climax  of  her 
anger,  and  the  reaction  was  like  the  shock  of  dropping 
from  a  dizzy  height.  During  the  walk  home  she  scarcely 
spoke.  When  he  left  her  at  her  uncle's  door,  she  was 
almost  rude.  "Goodnight.  No;  I'm  busy.  I'd  rather 
you  didn't  come  in."  In  her  own  room,  without  waiting 
to  take  off  her  things,  she  ran  to  her  desk;  she  did  not 
even  pause  to  sit  down,  but  bent  over,  and  wrote,  sobbing 
under  her  breath : 

"DAVID:  I  am  just  as  false  as  I  can  be.  I  ridiculed 
you  to  Blair.  I  lied  and  lied  and  lied — because  I  was 

161 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

angry.  I  hated  you  for  a  little  while.  I  am  low,  and 
vulgar,  and  a  blasphemer.  /  told  him  about  the  bridge. 
You  see  how  vile  I  am?  But  don't — don't  give  me  up, 
David.  Only  —  understand  just  how  base  I  am,  and 
then,  if  you  possibly  can,  keep  on  loving  me.  E. 

"  P.  S.     I  am  not  worth  loving." 

When  David  read  that  poor  little  letter,  his  face  quiv 
ered  for  an  instant,  then  he  smiled.  "Materna,"  he 
said — they  were  sitting  at  supper;  "Materna,  she  cer 
tainly  is  perfect!" 

His  mother  laughed,  and  put  out  her  hand.  But  he 
shook  his  head.  "Not  even  you!"  he  said. 

When  he  went  to  see  Elizabeth  that  evening,  he  found 
her  curiously  broken.  "David,  how  could  I  do  it? 
I  made  fun  of  you !  Do  you  understand  ?  Yes ;  I  truly 
did.  Oh,  how  vile  I  am!  And  I  knew  I  was  vile  all  the 
time;  that's  the  queer  part  of  it.  But  I  piled  it  on! 
And  all  the  time  it  seemed  as  if  I  was  just  bleeding  to 
death  inside.  But  I  kept  on  doing  it.  I  loved  being 
false.  I  loved  to  blacken  myself."  She  drew  away 
from  him,  shivering.  "No;  don't  touch  me;  don't  kiss 
me;  I  am  not  worthy.  Oh,  David,  throw  me  over! 
Don't  marry  me,  I  am  not  fit — "  And  as  he  caught  her 
in  his  arms,  she  said,  her  voice  smothered  against  his 
breast,  "You  see,  you  didn't  come  in  at  Nannie's. 
And  it  looked  as  if — as  if  you  didn't  care.  It  was  hu 
miliating,  David.  And  last  night  you  didn't  bring  me 
the  book,  or  even  send  any  message;  and  that  was  sort 
of  careless.  Yes,  I  really  think  you  were  a  little  horrid, 
David.  So  I  was  hurt,  I  suppose,  to  start  with;  and  you 
know,  when  I  am  hurt —  Oh,  yes;  it  was  silly;  but — " 

He  kissed  her  again,  and  laughed.  "It  was  silly, 
dear." 

"Well,  but  listen:  I  am  not  excusing  myself  for  this 
afternoon,  but  I  do  want  you  to  understand  how  it 
started.  I  was  provoked  at  your  not  explaining  to  me 

162 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

why  you  go  away  a  whole  month  earlier  than  you  need; 
I  think  any  girl  would  be  a  little  provoked,  David.  And 
then,  on  top  of  it,  you  let  Blair  and  Nannie  see  that  you 
didn't  care  to  walk  home  with  me,  and — " 

"But  good  gracious!"  said  David,  amused  and  tender, 
"I  thought  you  didn't  want  me!  And  it  would  have 
been  rather  absurd  to  hang  round,  if  I  wasn't  wanted." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  sharply,  lifting  her  wet  face  from  his 
breast,  "  don't  you  see  ?  /  want  you  to  be  absurd!  Can't 
you  understand  how  a  girl  feels?"  She  stopped,  and 
sighed.  "After  all,  why  should  you  show  Nannie  and 
Blair  that  you  care  ?  Why  should  you  wait  ?  I  am  not 
worth  caring  for,  or  waiting  for,  anywhere,  any  time! 
Oh,  David,  my  temper — my  dreadful  temper!" 

He  lifted  her  trembling  hand  and  kissed  the  scar  on 
her  left  wrist  silently. 

"I  ought  not  to  see  you  to-night,  just  to  punish  my 
self,"  she  said  brokenly.  "You  don't  know  how  crazy  I 
was  when  I  was  talking  to  Blair.  I  was  crazy!  Oh,  why, 
when  I  was  a  child,  didn't  they  make  me  control  my 
temper?  I  suppose  I'm  like — my  mother,"  she  ended  in 
a  whisper.  "  And  I  can't  change,  now;  I'm  too  old." 

David  smiled.  "You  are  terribly  old,"  he  said.  Like 
everybody  else,  save  Mrs.  Richie,  David  accepted  Eliza 
beth's  temper  as  a  matter  of  course.  "She  doesn't 
mean  anything  by  it,"  her  little  world  had  always  said; 
and  put  up  with  the  inconvenience  of  her  furies,  with  the 
patience  of  people  who  were  themselves  incapable  of  the 
irrationalities  of  temper.  "Oh,  you  are  a  hardened 
sinner,"  David  mocked. 

"You  do  forgive  me?"  she  whispered. 

At  that  he  was  grave.  "There  is  nothing  I  wouldn't 
forgive,  Elizabeth." 

"But  I  have  stabbed  you?" 

"  Yes;  a  little;  but  I  am  yours  to  stab." 

Her  eyes  filled.  "Oh,  it  is  so  wonderful,  that  you  go 
on  loving  me,  David!" 

163 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"You  go  on  loving  me,"  he  rallied  her;  "in  spite  of 
my  dullness  and  slowness,  and  all  that." 

But  Elizabeth  was  not  listening.  "Sometimes  it 
frightens  me  to  get  so  angry,"  she  said,  with  a  somber 
look.  "It  was  just  the  same  when  I  was  a  little  girl; 
do  you  remember  the  time  I  cut  off  my  hair  ?  I  think 
you  had  hurt  my  feelings;  I  forget  now  what  you  had 
done.  I  was  always  having  my  feelings  hurt !  Of  course 
I  was  awfully  silly.  It  was  a  relief  then  to  spoil  my 
body,  by  cutting  off  my  hair.  This  afternoon  it  was  a 
relief  to  put  mud  on  my  soul." 

He  looked  at  her,  trying  to  find  words  tender  enough 
to  heal  the  wounds  she  had  torn  in  her  own  heart;  not 
finding  them,  he  was  silent. 

"Oh,  we  must  face  it,"  she  said;  "you  must  face  it. 
I  am  not  a  good  girl;  I  am  not  the  kind  of  girl  you 
ought  to  marry,  I'm  perfectly  sure  your  mother  thinks 
so.  She  thinks  a  person  with  a  temper  can't  love  people." 

"I'll  not  go  away  in  March!"  David  interrupted  her 
passionately; — of  course  it  might  be  pleasanter  for  Ma- 
terna  to  get  away  from  old  Ferguson;  but  what  is  a  man's 
mother,  compared  with  his  girl!  Elizabeth's  pain  was 
intolerable  to  him.  "I  won't  leave  you  a  day  before  I 
have  to!" 

For  a  moment  her  wet  eyes  smiled.  "Indeed  you 
shall;  I  may  be  wicked — oh,  I  am!  but  I  am  not  really 
an  idiot.  Only,  David,  don't  take  things  so  for  granted, 
dear;  and  don't  be  so  awfully  sensible,  David." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

WHEN  the  door  closed  behind  Blair  and  Elizabeth, 
Nannie  set  out  to  do  that  "best,"  which  her  brother  had 
demanded  of  her.  She  went  at  once  into  the  dining- 
room;  but  before  she  could  speak,  her  stepmother 
called  out  to  her: 

"Here!  Nannie!  You  are  just  the  person  I  want — 
Watson's  late  again,  and  I'm  in  a  hurry.  Just  take  these 
letters  and  sign  them  'S.  Maitland  per  N.  M.'  They 
must  be  posted  before  five.  Sit  down  there  at  the 
table." 

Nannie  could  not  sign  letters  and  talk  at  the  same 
time.  She  got  pen  and  ink  and  began  to  write  her  step 
mother's  name,  over  and  over,  slowly,  like  a  little  care 
ful  machine:  "S.  Maitland,"  "S.  Maitland."  In  her 
desire  to  please  she  discarded  her  own  neat  script,  and 
reproduced  with  surprising  exactness  the  rough  signa 
ture  which  she  knew  so  well.  But  all  the  while  her 
anxious  thoughts  were  with  her  brother.  She  wished 
he  had  not  rushed  off  with  Elizabeth.  If  he  had  only 
come  himself  into  the  detested  dining-room,  his  mother 
would  have  bidden  him  sign  the  letters;  he  might  have 
read  them  and  talked  them  over  with  her,  and  that 
would  have  pleased  her.  Nannie  herself  had  no  am 
bition  to  read  them;  her  eye  caught  occasional  phrases: 
"Shears  for — ,"  "new  converter,"  etc.,  etc.  The  words 
meant  nothing  to  Nannie,  bending  her  blond  head  and 
writing  like  a  machine,  "  S.  Maitland,"  "  S.  Maitland.'7  .  .  . 

"Mamma,"  she  began,  dipping  her  pen  into  the  ink, 
"  Blair  has  bought  a  rather  expensive — " 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Mrs.  Maitland  came  over  to  the  table  and  picked  up 
the  letters.  "That's  all.  Now  clear  out,  clear  out! 
I've  got  a  lot  to  do!"  Then  her  eye  fell  on  one  of  the 
signatures,  and  she  gave  her  grunt  of  a  laugh.  "  If  you 
hadn't  put  'Per  N.  M.,'  I  shouldn't  have  known  that  I 
hadn't  signed  'em  myself  .  .  .  Nannie." 

"Yes,  Mamma?" 

"Is  Blair  going  to  be  at  home  to  supper?" 

"  I  think  not.  But  he  said  he  would  be  in  this  even 
ing.  And  he  wanted  me  to — to  ask — " 

"Well,  perhaps  I'll  come  over  to  your  parlor  to  see 
him,  if  I  get  through  with  my  work.  I  believe  he  goes 
East  again  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,"  Nannie  said.  Mrs.  Maitland,  at  her  desk, 
had  begun  to  write.  Nannie  wavered  for  a  minute, 
then,  with  a  despairing  look  at  the  back  of  her  step 
mother's  head,  slipped  away  to  her  own  part  of  the 
house.  "I'll  tell  her  at  supper,"  she  promised  herself. 
But  in  her  own  room,  as  she  dressed  for  tea,  panic  fell 
upon  her.  She  began  to  walk  nervously  about ;  once  she 
stopped,  and  leaning  her  forehead  against  the  window, 
looked  absently  into  the  dusk.  At  the  end  of  the  cinder 
path,  the  vast  pile  of  the  foundry  rose  black  against  the 
fading  sky ;  on  the  left  the  open  arches  of  the  cast-house 
of  the  furnace  glowed  with  molten  iron  that  was  running 
into  pigs  on  the  wide  stretch  of  sand.  The  spur  track 
was  banked  with  desolate  wastes  of  slag  and  rubbish; 
beyond  them,  like  an  enfolding  arm,  was  the  river,  dark 
in  the  darkening  twilight.  From  under  half-shut  dam 
pers  flat  sheets  of  sapphire  and  orange  flame  roared 
out  in  rhythmical  pulsations,  and  above  them  was  the 
pillar  of  smoke  shot  through  with  flying  billions  of 
sparks;  back  of  this  monstrous  and  ordered  confusion 
was  the  solemn  circling  line  of  hills.  It  was  all  hideous 
and  fierce,  yet  in  the  clear  winter  dusk  it  had  a  beauty 
of  its  own  that  held  Nannie  Maitland,  even  though  she 
was  too  accustomed  to  it  to  be  conscious  of  its  details. 

166 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

As  she  stared  out  at  it  with  troubled  eyes,  there  was  a 
knock  at  her  door;  before  she  could  say  "Come  in," 
her  stepmother  entered. 

"Here!"  Mrs.  Maitland  said,  "just  fix  this  waist,  will 
you?  I  can't  seem  to — to  make  it  look  right."  There 
was  a  dull  flush  on  her  cheek,  and  she  spoke  in  cross  con 
fusion.  "  Haven't  you  got  a  piece  of  lace,  or  something; 
I  don't  care  what.  This  black  dress  seems — "  she  broke 
off  and  glanced  into  the  mirror;  she  was  embarrassed, 
but  doggedly  determined.  "Make  me  look — some 
how,"  she  said. 

Nannie,  assenting,  and  rummaging  in  her  bureau 
drawer,  had  a  flash  of  understanding.  "She's  dressing 
up  for  Blair!"  She  took  out  a  piece  of  lace,  and  laid 
it  about  the  gaunt  shoulders;  then  tucked  the  front 
of  the  dress  in,  and  brought  the  lace  down  on  each  side. 
The  soft  old  thread  seemed  as  inappropriate  as  it  would 
have  been  if  laid  on  a  scarcely  cooled  steel  "bloom." 

"Well,  pin  it,  can't  you?"  Mrs.  Maitland  said  sharply; 
"haven't  you  got  some  kind  of  a  brooch?"  Nannie 
silently  produced  a  little  amethyst  pin. 

"It  doesn't  just  suit  the  dress,  I'm  afraid,"  she  ven 
tured. 

But  Mrs.  Maitland  looked  in  the  glass  complacently. 
"Nonsense!"  she  said,  and  tramped  out  of  the  room. 
In  the  hall  she  threw  back,  " — bliged." 

"Oh,  poor  Mamma!"  Nannie  said.  Her  sympathy 
was  hardly  more  than  a  sense  of  relief;  if  her  mother 
was  dressing  up  for  Blair,  she  must  be  more  than  usually 
good-natured.  "I'll  tell  her  at  supper,"  Nannie  decided, 
with  a  lift  of  courage. 

But  at  supper,  in  the  disorderly  dining-room,  with  the 
farther  end  of  the  table  piled  with  ledgers,  Mrs.  Maitland 
was  more  unapproachable  than  ever.  When  Nannie 
asked  a  timid  question  about  the  evening,  she  either  did 
not  hear,  or  she  affected  not  to.  At  any  rate,  she  vouch 
safed  no  answer.  Her  face  was  still  red,  and  she  seemed 

167 


THE    IRON   WOMAN 

to  hide  behind  her  evening  paper.  To  Nannie's  gentle 
dullness  this  was  no  betrayal;  it  merely  meant  that  Mrs. 
Maitland  was  cross  again,  and  her  heart  sank  within  her. 
But  somehow  she  gathered  up  her  courage: 

"You  won't  forget  to  come  into  the  parlor,  Mamma? 
Blair  wants  to  talk  to  you  about  something  that — that — " 

"I've  got  some  writing  to  do.  If  I  get  through  I'll 
come.  Now  clear  out,  clear  out;  I'm  too  busy  to  chat 
ter." 

Nannie  cleared  out.  She  had  no  choice.  She  went 
over  to  her  vast,  melancholy  parlor,  into  which  it  seemed 
as  if  the  fog  had  penetrated,  to  await  Blair.  In  her  rest 
less  apprehension  she  sat  down  at  the  piano,  but  after 
the  first  bar  or  two  her  hands  dropped  idly  on  the  keys. 
Then  she  got  up  and  looked  aimlessly  about.  "I'd  bet 
ter  finish  that  landscape,"  she  said,  and  went  over  to  her 
drawing-board.  She  stood  there  for  a  minute,  fingering 
a  lead  pencil;  her  nerves  were  tense,  and  yet,  as  she 
reminded  herself,  it  was  foolish  to  be  frightened.  His 
mother  loved  Blair;  she  would  do  anything  in  the  world 
for  him — Nannie  thought  of  the  lace;  yes,  anything! 
Blair  was  only  a  little,  extravagant.  And  what  did  his 
extravagance  matter?  his  mother  was  so  very  rich! 
But  oh,  why  did  they  always  clash  so  ?  Then  she  heard 
the  sound  of  Blair's  key  in  the  lock. 

"Well,  Nancy!"  he  said  gaily,  "she's  a  charmer." 

"Who?"  said  Nannie,  bewildered;  "Oh,  you  mean 
Elizabeth?" 

"Yes;  but  there's  a  lot  of  gunpowder  lying  round 
loose,  isn't  there  ?  She  was  out  with  David,  I  suppose 
because  he  didn't  show  up.  In  fact,  she  was  so  mad 
she  was  perfectly  stunning.  Nancy!  I  think  I'll 
stick  it  out  here  for  two  or  three  days;  Elizabeth  is 
mighty  good  fun,  and  David  is  in  town;  we  might 
renew  our  youth,  we  four;  what  do  you  say?  Well!" 
he  ended,  coming  back  to  his  own  affairs,  "what  did 
mother  say?" 

168 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

''Oh,  Blair,  I  couldn't!" 

"What!  you  haven't  told  her?" 

"  Blair  dear,  I  did  my  best;  but  she  simply  never  gave 
me  a  chance.  Indeed,  I  tried,  but  I  couldn't.  She 
wouldn't  let  me  open  my  lips  in  the  afternoon,  and  at 
supper  she  read  the  paper  every  minute — Harris  will  tell 
you." 

Blair  Maitland  whistled.  "Well,  I'll  tell  her  myself. 
It  was  really  to  spare  her  that  I  wanted  you  to  do  it. 
I  always  rile  her,  somehow,  poor  dear  mother.  Nannie, 
this  house  reeks  of  cabbage!  Does  she  live  on  it?" 
Blair  threw  up  his  arms  with  a  wordless  gesture  of  dis 
gust. 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  Nannie  said;  "but  don't  tell  her  you 
don't  like  it." 

The  door  across  the  hall  opened,  and  there  was  a 
heavy  step.  The  brother  and  sister  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Blair,  be  nice!"  Nannie  entreated ;  her  soft  eyes  under 
the  meekly  parted  blond  hair  were  very  anxious. 

He  did  not  need  the  caution;  whenever  he  was  with 
his  mother,  the  mere  instinct  of  self-preservation  made 
him  anxious  to  "be  nice."  As  Mrs.  Maitland  had  her 
instinct  of  self-preservation,  too,  there  had  been,  in  the 
last  year,  very  few  quarrels.  Instead  there  was,  on  his 
part,  an  exaggerated  politeness,  and  on  her  part,  a 
pathetic  effort  to  be  agreeable.  The  result  was,  of 
course,  entire  absence  of  spontaneity  in  both  of  them. 

Mrs.  Maitland,  her  knitting  in  her  hands,  came  tramp 
ing  into  the  parlor;  the  piece  of  thread  lace  was  pushed 
awry,  but  there  had  been  further  preparation  for  the 
occasion:  at  first  her  son  and  daughter  did  not  know 
what  the  change  was;  then  suddenly  both  recognized  it, 
and  exchanged  an  astonished  glance. 

"Mother!"  cried  Blair  incredulously,  "earrings!" 

The  dull  color  on  the  high  cheek-bones  deepened; 
she  smiled  sheepishly.  "Yes;  I  saw  'em  in  my  bureau 
drawer,  and  put  'em  on.  Haven't  worn  'em  for  years; 

169 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

but  Blair,  here,  likes  pretty  things."  (Her  son,  under 
his  breath,  groaned:  "pretty!")  "So  you  are  off  to 
morrow,  Blair?"  she  said,  politely;  she  ran  her  hand 
along  the  yellowing  bone  needles,  and  the  big  ball  of 
pink  worsted  rolled  softly  down  on  to  the  floor.  As  she 
glanced  at  him  over  her  steel-rimmed  spectacles,  her 
eyes  softened  as  an  eagle's  might  when  looking  at  her 
young.  "I  wish  his  father  could  see  him,"  she  thought. 
"Next  time  you  come  home,"  she  said,  "it  will  be  to  go 
to  work!" 

"Yes,"  Blair  said,  smiling  industriously. 

"Pity  you  have  to  study  this  summer;  I'd  like  to 
have  you  in  the  office  now." 

"Yes;  I'm  awfully  sorry,"  he  said  with  charming 
courtesy,  "but  I  feel  I  ought  to  brush  up  on  one  or  two 
subjects,  and  I  can  do  it  better  abroad  than  here.  I'm 
going  to  paint  a  little,  too.  I'll  be  very  busy  all  sum 
mer." 

"Why  don't  you  paint  our  new  foundry?"  said  Mrs. 
Maitland.  She  laughed  with  successful  cheerfulness; 
Blair  liked  jokes,  and  this,  she  thought,  complacently, 
was  a  joke.  "Well,  /  shall  manage  to  keep  busy,  too!" 
she  said. 

"I  suppose  so,"  Blair  agreed. 

He  was  lounging  on  the  arm  of  Nannie's  chair,  and 
felt  his  sleeve  plucked  softly.  "Now,"  said  Nannie. 

But  Blair  was  not  ready.  "You  are  always  busy," 
he  said;  f  "  I  wish  I  had  your  habit  of  industry." 

Mrs.  Maitland's  smile  faded.     "  I  wish  you  had." 

"Oh,  well,  you've  got  industry  enough  for  this  family," 
Blair  declared.  But  the  flattery  did  not  penetrate. 

"Too  much,  maybe,"  she  said  grimly;  then  remem 
bered,  and  began  to  "entertain"  again:  "I  had  a  com 
pliment  to-day." 

Blair,  with  ardent  interest,  said,  "Really?" 

"That  man  Dolliver  in  our  office — you  remember 
Dolliver?"  Blair  nodded.  "He  happened  to  say  he 

170 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

never  knew  such  an  honest  man  as  old  Henry  B.  Knight. 
Remember  old  Mr.  Knight?"  She  paused,  her  eyes 
narrowed  into  a  laugh.  "He  married  Molly  Wharton. 
I  always  called  her  'goose  Molly.'  She  used  to  make 
eyes  at  your  father;  but  she  couldn't  get  him — though 
she  tried  to  hard  enough,  by  telling  him,  so  I  heard,  that 
the  'only  feminine  thing  about  me  was  my  petticoats.' 
A  very  coarse  remark,  in  my  judgment ;  and  as  for  being 
feminine, — when  you  were  born,  I  thought  of  inviting  her 
to  come  and  look  at  you  so  she  could  see  what  a  baby 
was  like !  She  never  had  any  children.  Well,  old  Knight 
was  elder  of  the  Second  Church.  Remember?" 

"Oh  yes,"  Blair  said  vaguely. 

"Dolliver  said  Knight  once  lost  a  trade  by  telling  the 
truth,  '  when  he  might  have  kept  his  mouth  shut ' — that 
was  Dolliver's  way  of  putting  it.  'Well,'  I  said,  'I  hope 
you  think  that  our  Works  are  just  as  honestly  conducted 
as  the  Knight  Mills';  fact  was,  I  knew  a  thing  or  two 
about  Henry  B.  And  what  do  you  suppose  Dolliver 
said  ?  '  Oh,  yes,'  he  said,  '  you  are  honest,  Mrs.  Maitland, 
but  you  ain't  damn-fool  honest.'"  She  laughed  loudly, 
and  her  son  laughed  too,  this  time  in  genuine  amusement; 
but  Nannie  looked  prim,  at  which  Mrs.  Maitland  glanced 
at  Blair,  and  there  was  a  sympathetic  twinkle  between 
them  which  for  the  moment  put  them  both  really  at 
ease.  "I  got  on  to  a  good  thing  last  week,"  she  said, 
still  trying  to  amuse  him,  but  now  there  was  reality  in 
her  voice. 

"Do  tell  me  about  it,"  Blair  said,  politely. 

"  You  know  Kraas  ?  He  is  the  man  that's  had  a  bee  in 
his  bonnet  for  the  last  ten  years  about  a  newfangled 
idea  for  making  castings  of  steel.  He  brought  ma  his 
plans  once,  but  I  told  him  they  were  no  good.  But  last 
month  he  asked  me  to  make  some  castings  for  him  to  go 
on  his  contrivance.  Of  course  I  did;  we  cast  anything 
for  anybody — provided  they  can  pay  for  it.  Well,  Kraas 
tried  it  in  our  foundry;  no  good,  just  as  I  said;  the  metal 

171 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

was  full  of  flaws.  But  it  occurred  to  me  to  experiment 
with  his  idea  on  my  own  hook.  I  melted  my  pig,  and 
poured  it  into  his  converter  thing;  but  I  added  some 
silvery  pig  I  had  on  the  Yard,  made  when  No.  i  blew  in, 
and  the  castings  were  as  sound  as  a  nut!  Kraas  never 
thought  of  that."  She  twitched  her  pink  worsted  and 
gave  her  grunt  of  a  laugh.  "Master  Kraas  hasn't  any 
caveat,  and  he  can't  get  one  on  that  idea,  so  of  course  I 
can  go  ahead." 

"Oh,  Mamma,  how  clever  you  are!"  Nannie  mur- 
muredj  admiringly. 

"Clever?"  said  Blair;  Nannie  shook  his  arm  gently, 
and  he  recollected  himself.  "Well,  I  suppose  business 
is  like  love  and  war.  All's  fair  in  business." 

Mrs.  Maitland  was  silent.  Then  she  said:  "Business 
is  war.  But — fair?  It  is  a  perfectly  legal  thing  to 
do." 

"Oh,  legal,  yes,"  her  son  agreed  significantly;  the 
thin  ice  of  politeness  was  beginning  to  crack.  It  was 
the  old  situation  over  again ;  he  was  repelled  by  unloveli- 
ness;  this  time  it  was  the  unloveliness  of  shrewdness. 
For  a  moment  his  disgust  made  him  quite  natural.  "  It 
is  legal  enough,  I  suppose,"  he  vsaid  coldly. 

Mrs.  Maitland  did  not  lift  her  head,  but  with  her  eyes 
fixed  on  her  needles,  she  suddenly  stopped  knitting. 
Nannie  quivered. 

"Mamma,"  she  burst  In,  "Blair  wanted  to  tell  you 
about  something  very  beautiful  that  he  has  found, 
and — "  Her  brother  pinched  her,  and  her  voice  trailed 
into  silence. 

"Found  something  beautiful?  I'd  like  to  hear  of  his 
finding  something  useful!"  The  ice  cracked  a  little 
more.  "As  for  your  mother's  honesty,  Blair,  if  you  had 
waited  a  minute,  I'd  have  told  you  that  as  soon  as  I 
found  the  idea  was  practical  I  handed  it  over  to  Kraas. 
I'm  damn-fool  honest,  I  suppose."  But  this  time  she 
did  not  laugh  at  her  joke. 

172 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Blair  was  instant  with  apologies;  he  had  not  meant — 
he  had  not  intended —  "Of  course  you  would  do  the 
square  thing,"  he  declared. 

"But  you  thought  I  wouldn't,"  she  said.  And  while 
he  was  making  polite  exclamations,  she  changed  the 
subject  for  something  safer.  She  still  tried  to  entertain 
him,  but  now  she  spoke  wearily.  "  What  do  you  suppose 
I  read  in  the  paper  to-night  ?  Some  man  in  New  York — 
named  Maitland,  curiously  enough;  'picked  up'  an  old 
master — that's  how  the  paper  put  it;  for  $5,000.  It 
appears  it  was  considered  '  cheap ' !  It  was  14x18  inches. 
Inches,  mind  you,  not  feet!  Well,  Mr.  Doestick's  friends 
are  not  all  dead  yet.  Sorry  anybody  of  our  name  should 
do  such  a  thing." 

Nannie  turned  white  enough  to  faint. 

"Allow  me  to  say,"  said  Blair,  tensely,  "that  an  'old 
master'  might  be  cheap  at  five  times  that  price!" 

"  I  wouldn't  give  five  thousand  dollars  for  the  greatest 
picture  that  was  ever  painted,"  his  mother  announced. 
Then,  without  an  instant's  warning,  her  face  puckered 
into  a  furious  sneeze.  "God  bless  us!"  she  said,  and 
blew  her  nose  loudly.  Blair  jumped. 

"I  would  give  all  I  have  in  the  world!"  he  said. 

"Well,"  his  mother  said,  ramming  her  grimy  hand 
kerchief  into  her  pocket,  "if  it  cost  all  you  have  in  the 
world,  it  would  certainly  be  cheap;  for,  so  far  as  I  know, 
you  haven't  anything."  Alas!  the  ice  had  given  way 
entirely. 

Blair  pushed  Nannie's  hand  from  his  arm,  and  getting 
up,  walked  over  to  the  marble-topped  centre-table; 
he  stood  there  slowly  turning  over  the  pages  of  Tlie 
Poetesses  of  America,  in  rigid  determination  to  hold  his 
tongue.  Mrs.  Maitland 's  eyebrow  began  to  rise;  her 
fingers  tightened  on  her  hurrying  needles  until  the  nails 
were  white.  Nannie,  looking  from  one  to  the  other, 
trembled  with  apprehension.  Then  she  made  an  excuse 
to  take  Blair  to  the  other  end  of  the  room. 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

" Come  and  look  at  my  drawing,"  she  said;  and  added 
under  her  breath:  "Don't  tell  her!" 

Blair  shook  his  head.  "I've  got  to,  somehow."  But 
when  he  came  back  and  stood  in  front  of  his  mother,  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  his  shoulder  lounging  against  the 
mantelpiece,  he  was  apparently  his  careless  self  again. 
"Well,"  he  said,  gaily,  "if  I  haven't  anything  of  my 
own,  it's  your  fault;  you've  been  too  generous  to  me!" 

The  knitting-needles  flagged;  Nannie  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"Yes,  you  are  too  good  to  me,"  he  said;  "and  you 
work  so  hard!  Why  do  you  work  like  a — a  man?" 
There  was  an  uncontrollable  quiver  of  disgust  in  his 
voice. 

His  mother  smiled,  with  a  quick  bridling  of  her  head — 
he  was  complimenting  her !  The  soreness  from  his  thrust 
about  legality  vanished.  "Yes;  I  do  work  hard.  I 
reckon  there's  no  man  in  the  iron  business  who  can  get 
more  pork  for  his  shilling  than  I  can!" 

Blair  cast  an  agonized  look  at  Nannie;  then  set  him 
self  to  his  task  again — in  rather  a  roundabout  way: 
"Why  don't  you  spend  some  of  your  money  on  yourself, 
Mother,  instead  of  on  me?" 

"There's  nothing  I  want." 

"But  there  are  so  many  things  you  could  have!" 

"I  have  everything  I  need,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland;  "a 
roof,  a  bed,  a  chair,  and  food  to  eat.  As  for  all  this 
truck  that  people  spend  their  money  on,  what  use  is  it  ? 
that's  what  I  want  to  know!  What's  it  worth?" 

Blair  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  small 
beautifully  carved  jade  box;  he  took  off  the  lid  deli 
cately,  and  shook  a  scarab  into  the  palm  of  his  hand. 
"I'll  tell  you  what  that  is  worth/'  he  said,  holding  the 
dull-blue  oval  between  his  thumb  and  finger;  then  he 
mentioned  a  sum  that  made  Nannie  exclaim.  His 
mother  put  down  her  knitting,  and  taking  the  bit  of 
eternity  in  her  fingers,  looked  at  it  silently.  "Do  you 

174 


THE     IRON    WOMAN 

wonder  I  got  that  box,  which  is  a  treasure  in  itself,  to 
hold  such  a  treasure?"  Blair  exulted. 

Mrs.  Maitland,  handing  the  scarab  back,  began  to 
knit  furiously.  "That's  what  it's  worth,"  he  said;  he 
was  holding  the  scarab  in  his  palm  with  a  sort  of  tender 
ness;  his  eyes  caressed  it.  "But  it  isn't  what  I  paid. 
The  collector  was  hard  up,  and  I  made  him  knock  off 
twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  price." 

"Hah!"  said  Mrs.  Maitland;  "well;  I  suppose  'all's 
fair  in  love  and  collections'?" 

"What's  unfair  in  that?"  Blair  said,  sharply;  "I  buy 
in  the  cheapest  market.  You  do  that  yourself,  my  dear 
mother."  When  Blair  said  "my  dear  mother,"  he  was 
farthest  from  filial  affection.  "Besides,"  he  said,  with 
strained  self-control,  "besides,  I'm  like  you,  I'm  not 
'damn-fool  honest'!" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  say  you  weren't  honest.  Only,  if  I 
was  going  to  take  advantage  of  anybody,  I'd  do  it  for 
something  more  important  than  a  blue  china  beetle." 

"The  trouble  with  you,  Mother,  is  that  you  don't  see 
anything  but  those  hideous  Works  of  yours!"  her  son 
burst  out. 

"If  I  did,  you  couldn't  pay  for  your  china  beetles. 
Beetles?  You  couldn't  pay  for  the  breeches  you're 
sitting  in!" 

"Oh,  Mamma!  oh,  Blair!"  sighed  poor  Nannie. 

There  was  a  violent  silence.  Suddenly  Mrs.  Maitland 
brought  the  flat  of  her  hand  furiously  down  on  the  table; 
then,  without  a  word,  got  on  her  feet,  pulled  at  the  ball 
of  pink  worsted  which  had  run  behind  a  chair  and  caught 
under  the  caster;  her  jerk  broke  the  thread.  The  next 
moment  the  parlor  door  banged  behind  her. 

Nannie  burst  out  crying.  Blair  opened  and  closed  his 
lips,  speechless  with  rage. 

"What — what  made  her  so  angry?"  Nannie  said, 
catching  her  breatr^  "  Was  it  the  beetle  ?" 

"Don't  call  it  that  ridiculous  name!     I'll  have  to 

12  175 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

borrow  the  $5,000.  And  where  the  devil  I'll  get  it  I 
don't  know.  Nannie,  'goose  Molly'  wasn't  an  entire 
fool,  after  all!" 

"Blair!"  his  sister  protested,  horrified.  But  Blair 
was  too  angry  to  be  ashamed  of  himself.  He  could  not 
see  that  his  mother's  anger  was  only  the  other  side  of  her 
love.  In  Sarah  Maitland,  not  only  maternity,  but  pride, 
the  peculiar  pride  engendered  in  her  by  her  immense 
business — pride  and  maternity  together,  demanded  such 
high  things  of  her  son!  Not  finding  them,  the  pain  of 
disappointment  broke  into  violent  expression.  Indeed, 
had  this  charming  fellow,  handsome,  selfish,  sweet- 
hearted,  been  some  other  woman's  son,  she  would  have 
been  far  more  patient  with  him.  Her  very  love  made 
her  abominable  to  him.  She  was  furiously  angry  when 
she  left  him  there  in  Nannie's  parlor;  all  the  same  he 
did  not  have  to  borrow  the  $5,000. 

The  next  morning  Sara,h  Maitland  sent  for  her  super 
intendent.  "Mr.  Ferguson,"  she  said — they  were  in  her 
private  office,  and  the  door  was  shut;  "Mr.  Ferguson, 
I  think — but  I  don't  know — I  think  Blair  has  been  mak 
ing  an  idiot  of  himself  again.  I  saw  in  the  paper  that 
somebody  called  Maitland  had  been  throwing  money 
away  on  a  picture.  I  don't  know  what  it  was,  and  I 
don't  want  to  know.  It  was  14x18  inches;  not  feet. 
That  was  enough  for  me.  Why,  Ferguson,  those  big 
pictures  in  my  parlor  (I  bought  them  when  I  was  going 
to  be  married ;  a  woman  is  sort  of  foolish  then ;  I  wouldn't 
do  such  a  thing  now),  those  four  pictures  are  4x6  feet 
each;  and  they  cost  me  $400;  $100  apiece.  But  this 
New  York  man  has  paid  $5,000  for  one  picture  14x18 
inches !  If  it  was  Blair — and  it  came  over  me  last  night, 
all  of  a  sudden,  that  it  was;  he  hasn't  got  any  $5,000  to 
pay  for  it.  I  don't  want  to  go  into  the  matter  with  him; 
we  don't  get  along  on  such  subjects.  But  I  want 
you  to  ask  him  about  it;  maybe  he'll  speak  out  to  you, 
man  fashion.  If  this  '  Maitland '  is  just  a  fool  of  our  name 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

so  much  the  better,  but  if  it  is  Blair,  I've  got  to  help 
him  out,  I  suppose.  I  want  you  to  settle  the  thing  for 
me.  I — can't."  Her  voice  broke  on  the  last  word;  she 
coughed  and  cleared  her  throat  before  she  could  speak 
distinctly.  "I  haven't  the  time,"  she  said. 

•  Robert    Ferguson    listened,    frowning.     "You'll   give 
him  money  to  spend  in  ways  you  don't  approve  of?" 

She  nodded  sullenly.     "  I  have  to." 

11  You  don't  have  to!"  he  broke  out;  "for  God's  sake, 
Mrs.  Maitland,  stop!" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  sir  ?" 

"  I  mean  .  .  .  this  isn't  my  business,  but  I  can't  see 
you — Mrs.  Maitland,  if  I  get  to  talking  on  this  subject, 
we'll  quarrel." 

The  glare  of  anger  in  her  face  died  out.  She  leaned 
back  in  her  chair  and  looked  at  him.  "I  won't  quarrel 
with  you.  Go  on.  Say  what  you  think.  I  won't  say 
I'll  take  your  advice,  but  I'll  listen  to  it." 

"It's  what  I  have  always  told  you.  You  are  squeez 
ing  the  life  out  of  Blair  by  giving  him  money.  You've 
always  done  it,  because  it  was  the  easy  thing  to  do.  Let 
up  on  him!  Give  him  a  chance.  Let  him  earn  his 
money,  or  go  without.  Talk  about  making  him  inde 
pendent — you've  made  him  as  dependent  as  a  baby! 
I  don't  know  my  Bible  as  well  as  you  do,  but  there  is  a 
verse  somewhere — something  about '  fullness  of  bread  and 
abundance  of  idleness.'  That's  what's  the  trouble  with 
Blair.  'Fullness  of  bread  and  abundance  of  idleness."1 

"But  he's  been  at  college;  he  couldn't  work  while  he 
was  at  college,"  she  said,  with  honest  bewilderment. 

"Of  course  he  couldn't.  But  why  did  you  let  him 
dawdle  round  at  college,  pretending  to  special,  for  a  year 
after  he  graduated  ?  Of  course  he  won't  work  so  long  as 
he  doesn't  have  to.  The  boy  wouldn't  be  human  if  he 
did!  You  never  made  him  feel  he  had  to  get  through 
and  to  go  to  work.  You've  given  him  everything  he 
wanted,  and  you've  exacted  nothing  in  return;  not 

177 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

scholarship,  nor  even  decent  behavior.  He's  gambled, 
and  gone  after  women,  and  bought  everything  on  earth 
he  wanted — the  only  thing  he  knows  how  to  do  is  to  spend 
money !  He  has  never  done  a  hand's  turn  of  work  in  his 
life.  He  is  just  as  much  a  dead  beat  as  any  beggar  who 
gets  his  living  out  of  other  people's  pockets.  That  he 
gets  it  out  of  your  pocket  doesn't  alter  that;  that  he 
doesn't  wear  rags  and  knock  at  back  doors  doesn't  alter 
it.  He's  a  dead  beat!  Any  man  is,  who  takes  and 
doesn't  give  anything  in  return.  It's  queer  you  can't 
see  that,  Mrs.  Maitland." 

She  was  silent. 

"Why,  look  here:  I've  heard  you  say,  many  a  time, 
that  the  best  part  of  your  life  was  when  you  had  to  work 
hardest.  Isn't  that  so?"  She  nodded.  " Then  why  in 
thunder  won't  you  let  Blair  work  ?  Let  him  work,  or  go 
without!" 

Again  she  did  not  speak. 

"For  Heaven's  sake,  give  him  a  chance,  before  it's 
too  late!" 

Mrs.  Maitland  got  up,  and  stood  with  her  back  to  him, 
looking  out  of  the  smoke-grimed  window.  Presently 
she  turned  round.  "Well,  what  would  you  do  now — 
supposing  he  did  buy  the  picture  ?" 

"Tell  him  that  he  has  overdrawn  his  allowance,  and 
that  if  he  wants  the  picture  he  must  earn  the  money  to 
pay  for  it.  Say  you'll  advance  it,  if  instead  of  going  to 
Europe  this  summer  he'll  stay  at  home  and  go  to  work. 
Of  course  he  can't  earn  five  thousand  dollars.  I  doubt 
if  he  can  earn  five  thousand  cents!  But  make  up  a  job 
— just  for  this  once;  and  help  him  out.  I  don't  believe 
in  made-up  jobs,  on  principle;  but  they're  better  than 
nothing.  If  he  won't  work,  darn  the  picture!  It  can 
be  resold."  . 

She  blew  her  lips  out  in  a  bubbling  sigh,  and  began 
to  bite  her  forefinger.  Robert  Ferguson  had  said  his 
say.  He  gathered  his  papers  together  and  got  on  his  feet. 

178 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Mr.  Ferguson  .  .  ."  He  waited,  his  hand  on  the 
knob. 

"Yes?" 

"  'Bliged  to  you.     But  for  the  present — " 

"Very  well,"  Robert  Ferguson  said  shortly. 

"Just  put  through  the  business  of  the  picture.  Here 
after—" 

Ferguson  shrugged  his  shoulders. 


CHAPTER  XV 

AFTER  his  first  spasm  of  angry  disgust,  when  he  de 
clared  he  would  go  East  the  next  morning,  Blair's  fancy 
for  "hanging  round  Mercer"  hardened  into  purpose; 
but  he  did  not  "hang  round"  his  mother's  house.  "The 
hotel  is  pretty  bad,"  he  told  Nannie,  "but  it's  better 
than  this."  So  he  took  the  most  expensive  suite  in  the 
big,  dark  old  River  House  that  in  those  days  was  Mer 
cer's  best  hotel.  Its  blackened  facade  and  the  Doric 
columns  of  its  entrance  gave  it  a  certain  exterior  dignity ; 
and  its  interior  comfort,  combined  with  the  reviving 
associations  of  youth,  lengthened  Blair's  two  or  three 
days  to  a  week,  then  to  a  fortnight. 

The  day  after  that  distressing  interview  with  his 
mother,  he  went  gaily  round  to  Mrs.  Richie's  to  pound 
David  on  the  back,  and  say  "Congratulations,  old  fellow! 
Why  in  thunder,"  he  complained,  "didn't  I  come  back 
before?  You've  cut  me  out,  you  villain!" 

David  grinned. 

"  *  Before  the  devil  could  come  back, 
The  angel  had  the  inside  track,'  " 

he  admitted. 

"Well,  if  you'll  take  my  advice,  you  won't  be  too 
angelic,"  Blair  said  a  little  dryly.  "She  always  had  a 
touch  of  the  other  thing  in  her,  you  know." 

"You  think  I'd  better  cultivate  a  few  vices?"  David 
inquired  amiably;  "I'm  obliged  for  an  example,  any 
how!" 

But  Blair  did  not  keep  up  the  chaffing.  The  at- 

180 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

mosphere  of  Mrs.  Richie's  house  dominated  him  as  com 
pletely  as  when  he  was  a  boy.  He  looked  at  her  serene 
face,  her  simple,  feminine  parlor,  the  books  and  flowers 
and  pictures,  —  and  thought  of  his  mother  and  his 
mother's  house.  Then,  somehow,  he  was  ashamed  of  his 
thoughts,  because  this  dear  lady  said  in  her  gentle 
way: 

"How  happy  your  mother  must  be  to  have  you  at 
home  again,  Blair.  You  won't  rush  right  off  and  leave 
us,  will  you?" 

"Well,"  he  hesitated,  "of  course  I  don't  want  to" — 
he  was  surprised  at  the  ring  of  truth  in  his  voice;  "but 
I  am  going  to  paint  this  summer.  I  am  going  to  be  in 
one  of  the  studios  in  Paris." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry,"  she  said  simply.  And  Blair  had  an 
instant  of  uncertainty,  although  a  moment  before  his 
"painting"  had  seemed  to  him  necessary,  because  it 
facilitated  another  summer  away  from  home ;  and  after 
the  interview  with  his  mother's  general  manager,  a  sum 
mer  away  from  home  was  more  than  ever  desirable. 

Mr.  Ferguson  had  handed  over  the  five  thousand 
dollars,  and  then  freed  his  mind.  Blair  listened.  He 
heard  that  he  was  a  sucker,  that  he  was  a  poor  stick,  that 
he  wasn't  fit  to  black  his  mother's  boots.  "They  need 
it,"  he  said,  chuckling;  and  Robert  Ferguson  nearly 
burst  with  anger! 

Yet  when  the  check  was  on  its  way  to  New  York,  and 
the  picture  had  been  shipped  to  Mercer,  Blair  still  lin 
gered  at  the  River  House.  The  idea  of  "renewing  their 
youth"  had  appealed  to  all  four  friends.  In  the  next 
two  or  three  weeks  they  were  constantly  together  at 
either  one  house  or  the  other,  or  at  some  outside  rendez 
vous  arranged  by  Blair — a  drive  down  to  Willis's,  a 
theater  party  and  supper,  a  moonlight  walk.  Once 
David  suggested  "ice-cream  at  Mrs.  Todd's."  Put  this 
fell  through ;  Blair  said  that  even  his  sentime  itality 
could  not  face  the  blue  paper  roses,  and  when  David 

181 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

urged  that  the  blue  paper  roses  were  part  of  the  fun, 
Blair  said,  "Well,  I'll  match  you  for  it.  All  important 
decisions  ought  to  be  left  to  chance,  to  avoid  the  burden 
of  responsibility!"  A  pitched  penny  favored  Blair,  and 
Mrs.  Todd  did  not  see  the  '  handsome  couples.'  It  was  at 
the  end  of  the  first  week,  when  they  were  all  dining 
with  Mrs.  Richie — the  evening  meal  was  beginning  to  be 
called  dinner  nowadays  in  Mercer;  that  Mrs.  Richie's  soft 
eyes,  which  took  duty  and  energy  and  ability  so  sweetly 
and  trustingly  for  granted, — Mrs.  Richie's  believing 
eyes  did  for  Blair  what  Robert  Ferguson's  vociferating 
truthfulness  had  not  been  able  to  accomplish.  It  was 
after  dinner,  and  she  and  Blair  had  gone  into  the  little 
plant-room,  where  the  air  was  sweet  with  hyacinths  and 
the  moist  greenness  of  ferns. 

"Blair,"  she  said,  putting  her  soft  hand  on  his  arm; 
"  I  want  to  say  something.  You  won't  mind  ?" 

"  Mind  anything  you  say  ?     I  should  think  not !" 

"It  is  only  that  I  want  you  to  know  that,  when  the 
time  comes,  I  shall  think  it  very  fine  in  you,  with  your 
tastes  and  temperament,  to  buckle  down  at  the  Works. 
I  shall  admire  you  very  much  then,  Blair." 

He  gave  her  a  droll  look.  "Alas,  dear  Mrs.  Richie," 
he  began;  but  she  interrupted  him. 

"  Your  mother  will  be  so  proud  and  happy  when  you 
get  to  work;  and  I  wanted  you  to  know  that  I,  too — " 

He  took  her  hand  from  his  arm  and  lifted  it  to  his  lips ; 
there  was  a  courtliness  about  Blair,  and  a  certain  gravity, 
which  at  moments  gave  him  positive  distinction.  "If 
there  is  any  good  in  me,"  he  said,  "you  would  bring  it 
out."  Then  he  smiled.  "But  probably  there  isn't 
any/' 

"Nonsense!"  she  cried,  and  hesitated;  he  saw  that 
her  leaf -brown  eyes  were  wet.  "You  must  make  your 
life  worth  while,  Blair.  You  must!  It  would  be  such 
a  dree  Iful  failure  if  you  didn't  do  anything  but  enjoy 
yourself." 

182 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

He  was  keenly  touched.  He  did  not  kiss  her  hand 
again;  he  just  put  his  arm  around  her,  as  David  might 
have  done,  and  gave  her  a  hug.  "Mrs.  Richie!  I — I 
will  brace  up!" 

"You  are  a  dear  fellow,"  she  said,  and  kissed  him. 
Then  they  went  back  to  the  other  three,  to  find  Eliza 
beth  in  a  gale  of  teasing  merriment  because,  she  said,. 
David  was  so  "terribly  talkative"! 

"He  has  sat  there  like  a  bump  on  a  log  for  fifteen 
minutes,"  she  complained.  "Say  something,  dummy!" 
she  commanded. 

David  only  chuckled,  and  pulled  Blair  into  a  corner 
to  talk.  "  You  girls  keep  on  your  own  side;  don't  inter 
rupt  serious  conversation,"  he  said.  "Blair,  I  want  to 
ask  you — "  And  in  a  minute  the  two  young  men  were 
deep  in  their  own  affairs.  It  was  amusing  to  see  how 
quickly  all  four  of  them  fell  back  into  the  comfortable 
commonplace  of  old  friendship,  the  men  roaring  over 
some  college  reminiscences,  and  the  two  girls  grumbling 
at  being  left  out.  "Really,"  said  Mrs.  Richie,  "I  should 
think  none  of  you  were  more  than  fifteen!" 

That  night,  when  he  took  his  sister  home,  Blair  was 
very  silent.  Her  little  trickle  of  talk  about  David  and 
Elizabeth  was  apparently  unheard.  As  they  turned 
into  their  own  street,  the  full  moon,  just  rising  out  of  the 
river  mists,  suddenly  flooded  the  waste-lands  beyond  the 
Works ;  the  gaunt  outlines  of  the  Foundry  were  touched 
with  ethereal  silver,  and  the  Maitland  house,  looming  up 
in  a  great  black  mass,  made  a  gulf  of  shadow  that  drowned 
the  dooryard  and  spread  half-way  across  the  squalid 
street.  Beyond  the  shadow,  Shantytown,  in  the  quiet 
splendor  of  the  moon,  seemed  as  intangible  as  a  dream. 

"Beautiful!"    Blair    said,    involuntarily.     He    stood 
for  a   silent   moment,   drinking  the  beauty  like  wine 
perhaps  it  was  the  exhilaration  of  it  that  made  him  say 
abruptly:    "Perhaps  I'll  not  go  abroad.     Perhaps  I'll 
pitch  in," 

183 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Nannie  fairly  jumped  with  astonishment.  "Blair! 
You  mean  to  go  into  the  Works?  This  summer?  Oh, 
how  pleased  Mamma  would  be!  It  would  be  perfectly 
splendid.  OkT  Nannie  gave  his  arm  a  speechless 
squeeze. 

"  If  I  do,  it  will  be  because  Mrs.  Richie  bolstered  me  up. 
Of  course  I  would  hate  it  like  the  devil;  but  perhaps  it's 
the  decent  thing  to  do?  Oh,  well;  don't  say  anything 
about  it.  I  haven't  made  up  my  mind — this  is  an  awful 
place!"  he  said,  with  a  shiver,  looking  across  at  Shanty- 
town  and  remembering  what  was  hidden  under  the 
glamor  of  the  moon.  "The  smell  of  it!  Democracy  is 
well  enough,  Nancy — until  you  smell  it." 

"But  you  could  live  at  the  hotel,"  Nannie  reminded 
him,  as  he  pulled  out  his  latch-key. 

"  You  bet  I  would,"  her  brother  said,  laughing.  "My 
dear,  not  even  your  society  could  reconcile  me  to  the 
slums.  But  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  screw  myself 
up  to  the  Works,  anyhow.  David  won't  be  in  town,  and 
that  would  be  a  nuisance.  Well,  I'll  think  it  over; 
but  if  I  do  stay,  I  tell  you  what  it  is ! — you  two  girls  will 
have  to  make  things  mighty  agreeable,  or  I'll  clear  out. " 

He  did  think  it  over;  but  Blair  had  never  been 
taught  the  one  regal  word  of  life,  he  had  never  learned 
to  say  "I  ought"  Therefore  it  needed  more  talks  with 
Mrs.  Richie,  more  days  with  Elizabeth — David,  confound 
him!  wouldn't  come,  because  he  had  to  pack,  but  Nannie 
tagged  on  behind;  it  needed  the  "bolstering  up"  of 
much  approval  on  the  part  of  the  onlookers,  and  much 
self -approval,  too,  before  the  sere  wing-up  process  reached 
a  point  where  he  went  into  his  mother's  office  in  the 
Works  and  told  her  that  if  she  was  ready  to  take  him 
on,  he  was  ready  to  go  to  work. 

Mrs.  Maitland  was  absolutely  dumb  with  happiness. 
He  wanted  to  go  to  work!  He  asked  to  be  taken  on! 
"What  do  you  say  now,  friend  Ferguson?"  she  jeered; 
"you  thought  he  was  going  to  play  at  his  painting  for 

184 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

another  year,  and  you  wanted  me  to  put  his  nose  to  the 
grindstone,  and  make  him  earn  the  money  to  pay  for  that 
fool  picture.  Isn't  it  better  to  have  him  come  to  it  of  his 
own  accord?  I'd  pay  for  ten  pictures,  if  they  made 
him  want  to  go  to  work.  As  for  his  painting,  it  will 
be  his  father  over  again.  My  husband  had  his  fancies 
about  it,  too,  but  he  gave  it  all  up  when  he  married  me ; 
marriage  always  gives  a  man  common  sense, — marriage 
and  business.  That's  how  it's  going  to  be  with  Blair," 
she  ended  complacently.  "Blair  has  brains;  I've 
always  said  so." 

Robert  Ferguson  did  not  deny  the  brains,  but  he  was 
as  astonished  as  she. 

"I  believe,"  he  challenged  Mrs.  Richie,  "you  put  him 
up  to  it  ?  You  always  could  wind  that  boy  round  your 
finger." 

"I  did  talk  to  him,"  she  confessed;  it  was  their  last 
interview,  for  she  and  David  were  starting  East  that 
night,  and  Mr.  Ferguson  had  come  in  to  say  good-by. 
"  I  talked  to  him — a  little.  Mrs.  Maitland's  disappoint 
ment  about  him  went  to  my  heart.  Besides,  I  am  very 
fond  of  Blair;  there  is  a  great  deal  of  good  in  him.  You 
are  prejudiced." 

"No  I'm  not.  I  admit  that  as  his  mother  says, 
'he's  no  fool';  but  that  only  makes  his  dilly-dallying  so 
much  the  worse.  Still,  I  believe  that  if  she  were  to  lose 
all  her  money,  and  he  were  to  fall  very  much  in  love  and 
be  refused,  he  might  amount  to  something.  But  it 
would  need  both  things  to  make  a  man  of  him." 

Robert  Ferguson  sighed,  and  Mrs.  Richie  left  the 
subject  of  the  curative  effect  of  unsuccessful  love,  with 
nervous  haste.  "I  am  going  to  charge  Elizabeth  and 
Nannie  to  do  all  they  can  to  make  it  pleasant  for  him, 
so  that  he  won't  find  the  Works  too  terrible,"  she  said. 
At  which  reflection  upon  the  Works,  Mr.  Ferguson 
barked  so  fiercely  that  she  felt  quite  at  ease  with  him. 
But  his  barking  did  not  prevent  her  from  telling  the  girls 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

that  business  would  be  very  hard  for  Blair,  and  they 
must  cheer  him  up:  "Do  try  to  amuse  him!  You  know 
it  is  going  to  be  very  stupid  for  him  in  Mercer." 

Nannie,  of  course,  needed  no  urging;  as  for  Elizabeth, 
she  was  a  little  contemptuous.  Oh  yes;  she  would  do 
what  she  could,  she  said.  "Of  course,  I'm  awfully  fond 
of  Blair,  but — " 

The  fact  was,  she  was  contrasting  in  her  own  mind 
the  man  who  had  to  be  "amused"  to  keep  him  at  his 
work,  with  David — "working  himself  to  death!"  she  told 
Nannie,  proudly.  And  Nannie,  quick  to  feel  the  slur  in 
her  words,  said : 

"Yes,  but  it  is  quite  different  with  Blair.  Blair 
doesn't  have  to  do  anything,  you  know." 

Still,  thanks  to  Mrs.  Richie,  he  was  at  least  going  to 
pretend  to  do  something.  And  so,  at  a  ridiculously 
high  salary,  he  entered,  as  he  told  Elizabeth  humorously, 
"upon  his  career."  The  only  thing  he  did  to  make  life 
more  tolerable  for  himself  was  to  live  in  the  hotel  instead 
of  in  his  mother's  house.  But  it  was  characteristic  of 
him  that  he  left  the  wonderful  old  canvas — the  "four 
teen  by  eighteen  inch"  picture,  hanging  on  the  wall  in 
Nannie's  parlor.  "  You*ought  to  have  something  fit  for  a 
civilized  eye  to  rest  upon,"  he  told  her,  "and  I  can  see  it 
when  I  come  to  see  you."  If  his  permanent  departure 
for  the  River  House  wounded  his  mother,  she  made  no  pro 
test  ;  she  only  lifted  a  pleased  eyebrow  when  he  dropped 
in  to  supper,  which,  she  noticed,  he  was  apt  to  do  when 
ever  Elizabeth  happened  to  take  tea  with  Nannie. 
When  he  did  come,  Sarah  Maitland  used  to  look  about 
the  dining- room  table,  with  its  thick  earthenware  dishes — 
the  last  of  the  old  Canton  service  had  found  its  way  to  the 
ash-barrel ;  she  used  to  glance  at  the  three  young  people 
with  warm  satisfaction.  "Like  old  times!"  she  would 
say  kindly;  "only  needs  David  to  make  it  complete." 

Mrs.  Maitland  was  sixty-two  that  spring,  but  there 
was  no  stoop  of  the  big  shoulders,  no  sign  of  that  settling 

186 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

and  shrinking  that  age  brings.  She  was  at  the  full  tide 
of  her  vigor,  and  her  happiness  in  having  her  son  beside 
her  in  the  passion  of  her  life,  which  was  second  only  to 
her  passion  for  him,  showed  itself  in  clumsy  efforts  to 
flaunt  her  contentment  before  her  world .  Every  morning, 
with  varying  unpunctuality,  Blair  came  into  her  office  at 
the  Works  where  she  had  had  a  desk  placed  for  him. 
He  was  present,  because  she  insisted  that  he  should  be, 
at  the  regular  conferences  which  she  held  with  the  heads 
of  departments.  She  made  a  pretense  of  asking  his 
advice,  which  was  as  amusing  to  Mr.  Ferguson  and  the 
under- superintendents  as  it  was  tiresome  to  Blair.  For 
after  his  first  exhilaration  in  responding  to  Mrs.  Richie's 
high  belief  in  him,  the  mere  doing  of  duty  began  grad 
ually  to  pall.  Her  belief  helped  him  through  the  first 
four  or  five  months,  then  the  whole  thing  became  a  bore. 
His  work  was  ludicrously  perfunctory,  and  his  listless- 
ness  when  in  the  office  was  apparent  to  everybody. 
At  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  Sarah  Maitland  must  have 
known  that  it  was  all  a  farce.  Blair  was  worth  nothing 
to  the  business;  his  only  relation  to  it  was  the  weekly 
drawing  of  an  unearned  "salary."  Perhaps  if  Mrs. 
Richie  had  been  in  Mercer,  to  make  again  and  again 
the  appeal  of  confident  expectation,  that  little  feeble 
sense  of  duty  which  had  started  him  upon  his  "career," 
might  have  struck  a  root  down  through  feeling,  into  the 
rock-bed  of  character.  But  as  it  was,  not  even  the 
girls'  obedience  to  her  order,  "to  amuse  Blair,"  made 
up  for  the  withdrawal  of  her  own  sustaining  inspiration. 
But  at  least  Nannie  and  Elizabeth  kept  him  fairly 
contented  out  of  business  hours;  and  so  long  as  he  was 
contented,  things  were  smooth  between  him  and  his 
mother.  There  was,  as  Blair  expressed  it,  "only  one 
rumpus"  that  whole  summer,  and  it  was  a  very  mild 
one,  caused  by  the  fact  that  he  did  not  go  to  church. 
On  those  hot  July  Sunday  mornings,  his  mother  in  black 
silk,  and  Nannie  in  thin  lawn,  sat  in  the  family  pew, 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

fanning  themselves,  and  waiting;  Nannie,  constantly 
turning  to  look  down  the  aisle ;  Sarah  Maitland  intent  for 
a  familiar  step  and  a  hand  upon  the  little  baize-lined 
door  of  the  pew.  The  "rumpus"  ca.me  when,  on  the 
third  Sunday,  Blair  was  called  to  account. 

It  was  after  supper,  in  the  hot  dusk  in  Nannie's  parlor; 
Elizabeth  was  there,  and  the  two  girls,  in  white  dresses, 
were  fanning  themselves  languidly;  Blair,  at  the  piano, 
was  playing  the  Largo,  with  much  feeling.  The  win 
dows  were  open.  It  was  too  warm  for  lamps,  and  the 
room  was  lighted  only  by  the  occasional  roar  of  flames, 
breaking  fan -like  from  the  tops  of  the  stacks  in  the  Yards. 
Suddenly,  in  the  midst  of  their  idle  talk,  Mrs.  Maitland 
came  in;  she  paused  for  a  moment  before  the  dark 
oblong  of  canvas  on  the  wall  beside  the  door.  Of  course, 
in  the  half-light,  the  little  dim  Mother  of  God — immortal 
maternity! — could  scarcely  be  seen. 

"Umph,"  she  said,  "a  dirty  piece  of  canvas,  at  about 
twenty  dollars  a  square  inch!"  No  one  spoke.  "Let's 
see;"  she  calculated; — "ore  is  $10  a  ton;  20  tons  to  a 
car;  say  one  locomotive  hauls  25  cars.  Well,  there 
you  have  it:  a  trainload  of  iron  ore,  to  pay  for  this!'' 
she  snapped  a  thumb  and  finger  against  the  canvas. 
Blair  jumped — then  ran  his  right  hand  up  the  keyboard 
in  a  furious  arpeggio.  But  he  said  nothing.  Mrs. 
Maitland,  moving  away  from  the  picture,  blew  out  her 
lips  in  a  loud  sigh.  "Well,"  she  said;  "tastes  differ,  as 
the  old  woman  said  when  she  kissed  her  cow." 

Still  no  one  spoke,  but  Elizabeth  rose  to  offer  her  a 
chair.  "No,"  she  said,  coming  over  and  resting  an 
elbow  on  the  mantelpiece,  "I  won't  sit  down.  I'm 
going  in  a  minute." 

As  she  stood  there,  unrest  spread  about  her  as  rings 
from  a  falling  stone  spread  on  the  surface  of  a  pool. 
Blair  yawned,  and  got  up  from  the  piano;  Elizabeth 
fidgeted ;  Nannie  began  to  talk  nervously. 

"Blair/'  said  his  mother,  her  strident  voice  over- 
188 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

riding    the    girls'    chatter,    "  why   don't    you    come   to 
church?" 

His  answer  was  perfectly  unevasive  and  entirely  good- 
natured.  "  Well,  for  one  thing,  I  don't  believe  the  things 
the  church  teaches." 

"What  do  you  believe?"  she  demanded.  And  he 
answered  carelessly,  that  really,  he  hardly  knew. 

It  was,  of  course,  the  old  difference  of  the  generations; 
but  it  was  more  marked  because  these  two  generations 
had  never  spoken  the  same  language,  therefore  quiet, 
sympathetic  disagreement  was  impossible.  It  was  im 
possible,  too,  because  the  actual  fact  was  that  neither 
her  belief  nor  his  disbelief  were  integral  to  their  lives. 
Her  creed  was  a  barbarous  anthropomorphism,  which 
had  created  an  offended  and  puerile  god — a  god  of  foreign 
missions  and  arid  church-going  and  eternal  damnation. 
The  fear  of  her  god  (such  as  he  was)  would,  no  doubt, 
have  protected  her  against  certain  physical  temptations, 
to  which,  as  it  happened,  her  temperament  never  in 
clined;  but  he  had  never  safeguarded  her  from  the 
temptation  of  cutthroat  competition,  or  even  of  busi 
ness  shrewdness  which  her  lawyer  showed  her  how  to 
make  legal.  Blair,  on  the  contrary,  had  long  ago  dis 
carded  the  naive  brutalities  of  Presbyterianism ;  church- 
going  bored  him,  and  he  was  not  interested  in  saving  souls 
in  Africa.  But,  like  most  of  us — like  his  mother,  in  fact, 
he  had  a  god  of  his  own,  a  god  who  might  have  safe 
guarded  him  against  certain  intellectual  temptations; 
cheating  at  cards,  or  telling  the  truth,  if  the  truth  would 
compromise  a  woman.  But  as  he  had  no  desire  to  cheat 
at  cards,  and  the  women  whom  he  might  have  compro 
mised  did  not  need  to  be  lied  about,  his  god  was  of  as 
little  practical  value  to  him  as  his  mother's  was  to  her. 
So  they  were  neither  of  them  speaking  of  realities  when 
Mrs.  Maitland  said:  "What  do  you  believe?  What 
have  you  got  instead  of  God?" 
"Honor,"  Blair  said  promptly. 
189 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"What  do  you  mean  by  honor?"  she  said,  impatiently. 

"Well,"  her  son  reflected,  "there  are  things  a  man 
simply  can't  do;  that's  all.  And  that's  honor,  don't 
you  know.  Of  course,  religion  is  supposed  to  keep 
you  from  doing  things,  too.  But  there's  this  differ 
ence  :  religion,  if  you  pick  pockets — I  speak  metaphor 
ically;  threatens  you  with  hell.  Honor  threatens  you 
with  yourself."  As  he  spoke  he  frowned,  as  if  a  disa 
greeable  idea  had  occurred  to  him. 

His  mother  frowned,  too.  That  hell  and  a  man's 
self  might  be  the  same  thing  had  never  struck  Sarah 
Maitland.  She  did  not  understand  what  he  meant, 
and  feeling  herself  at  a  disadvantage,  retaliated  with  the 
reproof  she  might  have  administered  to  a  boy  of  fifteen : 
"You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about!" 

The  man  of  twenty-five  laughed  lazily.  "Your  re 
ligion  is  very  amusing,  my  dear  mother." 

Her  face  darkened.  She  took  her  elbow  from  the 
mantelpiece,  and  seemed  uncertain  what  to  do.  Blair 
sprang  to  open  the  door,  but  she  made  an  irritated  ges 
ture.  "I  know  how  to  open  doors,"  she  said.  She' 
threw  a  brief  "good-night"  to  Elizabeth,  and  turned  a 
cheek  to  Nannie  for  the  kiss  that  had  fallen  there,  soft  as 
a  little  feather,  in  all  the  nights  of  all  the  years  they  had 
lived  together.  "'Night,  Blair,"  she  said  shortly;  then 
hesitated,  her  hand  on  the  door-knob.  There  was  an 
instant  when  the  command  "Go  to  church!"  trembled 
upon  her  lips,  but  it  was  not  spoken.  "I  advise  you," 
she  said  roughly,  "to  get  over  your  conceit,  and  try  to 
get  some  religion  into  you.  Your  father  and  your  grand 
father  didn't  think  they  could  get  along  without  it;  they 
went  to  church!  But  you  evidently  think  you  are 
so  much  better  than  they  were  that  you  can  stay 
away." 

The  door  slammed  behind  her.  Blair  whistled. 
"Poor  dear  mother!"  he  sighed;  and  turned  round  to 
listen  to  the  two  girls.  "  Can  you  be  ready  to  start  on 

190 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  first?"  Elizabeth  was  asking  Nannie,  evidently  trying 
to  cover  up  the  awkwardness  of  that  angry  exit. 

"  Start  where  ?"  Blair  asked. 

"Why,  East!  You  know.  I  told  you  ages  ago," 
Nannie  explained.  "Elizabeth  and  I  are  going  to  stay 
with  Mrs.  Richie  at  the  seashore." 

"You  never  said  a  word  about  it, "% Blair  said  dis 
gustedly.  His  annoyance  knew  no  disguise.  "I  call  it 
pretty  shabby  for  you  two  to  go  off!  What's  going  to 
happen  to  me?" 

"Business,  Blair,  business!"  Elizabeth  mocked.  But 
Nannie  was  plainly  conscience-stricken.  "I'll  not  go, 
if  you'd  rather  I  didn't,  Blair." 

"Nonsense!"  her  brother  said  shortly,  "of  course  you 
must  go,  but — "  He  did  not  finish  his  thought,  what 
ever  it  was;  he  went  back  to  the  piano  and  began  to 
drum  idly.  His  face  was  sharply  annoyed.  That  defini 
tion  of  his  god  which  he  had  made  to  his  mother,  had 
aroused  a  nameless  uneasiness.  It  occurred  to  him  that 
perhaps  he  was  "picking  a  pocket,"  in  finding  such  em 
phatic  satisfaction  in  Elizabeth's  society.  Now,  abrupt 
ly,  at  the  news  of  her  approaching  absence,  the  uneasi 
ness  sharpened  into  faintly  recognizable  outlines. 

He  struck  a  jarring  chord  on  the  piano,  and  told  him 
self  not  to  be  a  fool.  "She's  mighty  good  fun.  Of 
course  I  shall  miss  her  or  any  other  girl,  in  this  God- 
^orsaken  hole !  That's  all  it  amounts  to.  Anyhow,  she's 
bad  in  love  with  David."  Sitting  there  in  the  hot  dusk, 
astening  to  the  voices  of  the  girls,  Blair  felt  suddenly 
irritated  with  David.  "Darn  him,  why  does  he  go  off 
and  leave  her  in  this  way  ?  Not  but  what  it  is  all  right 
so  far  as  I  am  concerned;  only — "  Then,  wordlessly,  his 
god  must  have  accused  him,  for  he  winced.  "I  am  not, 
not  in  the  least!"  he  said.  The  denial  confessed  him  to 
himself,  and  there  was  an  angry  bang  of  discordant 
octaves.  The  two  girls  called  out  in  dismay. 

"Oh,  do  stop!"  Elizabeth  said.  Blair  got  up  from  the 
13  iQ1 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

piano-stool  and  came  over  to  them  silently.  His  thoughts 
were  in  clamoring  confusion.  "I  am  not,"  he  said  again 
to  himself.  "I  like  her,  but  that's  all."  There  was  a 
look  of  actual  panic  on  his  lazily  charming  face.  He 
glanced  at  Elizabeth,  who,  her  head  on  Nannie's  shoul 
der,  was  humming  softly:  "  'Oh,  won't  it  be  joyful — joy 
ful — joyful—"'  and  clenched  his  hands. 

He  was  very  silent  as  he  walked  home  with  her  that 
night.  When  they  reached  her  door,  Elizabeth  looked 
up  at  the  closed  shutters  of  Mrs.  Richie's  house,  and 
sighed.  "How  dreary  a  closed  house  looks!"  she  said. 
"I  almost  wish  Uncle  would  rent  it,  but  he  won't.  / 
think  he  is  keeping  it  for  Mrs.  Richie  to  live  in  when 
David  and  I  settle  down  in  Philadelphia." 

Blair  was  apparently  not  interested  in  Mrs.  Richie's 
future.  "I  wish,"  he  said,  "that  I'd  gone  to  Europe 
this  summer." 

"Well,  that's  polite :  considering  that  Nannie  and  I 
have  spent  our  time  rrviking  it  agreeable  for  you." 

"I  stayed  in  Merger  because  I  thought  I'd  like  a  sum 
mer  with  Nannie/'  '»e  defended  himself;  he  was  just 
turning  away  at  the  fo:  f  nt  -;he  steps,  but  he  stopped  and 
called  back:  "with  K  r>'n.c — and  you." 

Elizabeth,  from  the  open  door,  looked  after  him  with 
frank  astonishment.  "How  long  since  Nannie  and  I 
have  been  so  much  appreciated?'' 

"I  think  I  began  to  appreciate  you  a  good  while  it- 
Elizabeth,"  he  said,  significantly;    but  she  did  not  l 
him.     "Perhaps  it's  just  as  well  she's  going,"  he  tol  ; 
himself,  as  he  went  slowly  back  to  the  hotel.     "  Not  tha> 
I'm  smitten;  but  I  might  be.     I  can  see  that  I  might  bef 
if  I  should  let  myself  go."    But  he  was  confident  that 
allegiance  to  his  god  would  keep  him  from  ever  letting 
himself  go. 

The  girls  went  East  that  week,  and  when  they  did, 
Blair  took  no  more  meals  in  the  office-dining-room. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IT  was  a  very  happy  time  that  the  inland  girls  spent 
with  Mrs.  Richie,  in  her  small  house  on  the  Jersey  shore. 
It  happened  that  neither  of  them  had  ever  seen  the 
ocean,  and  their  first  glimpse  of  it  was  a  great  experi 
ence.  Added  to  that  was  the  experience,  new  to  both  of 
them,  of  daily  companionship  with  a  serene  nature. 
Mrs.  Richie  was  always  a  little  remote,  a  little  inclined 
to  keep  people  at  arm's-length ;  there  were  undercur 
rents  of  sadness  in  her  talk,  and  she  was  perhaps  rather 
absorbed  in  her  own  supreme  affair,  maternal  love. 
Also,  her  calm  outlook  upon  heavenly  horizons  made  the 
affairs  of  the  girls  seem  sometimes  disconcertingly  small, 
and  to  realize  the  small ne.-;s  ;  •  one's  affairs  is  in  itself 
an  experience  to  youth.  "  in  spite  of  the  ultimate 
reserves  they  felt  in  her,  .  Richie  was  sympathetic, 
and  full  of  soft  gaieties,  v  -ss  patience  for  people 

and  events.     Elizabeth's  <         in  easy  dislike  of  her  had 
'ng  since  yielded   to   the    <ro,ct   that   she   was   David's 
ther,  and  so  must  be,  and  in  theory  was,  loved.     But 
•we  was  really  only  a. faint  awe  at  what  she  still 
1    "perfection";    and   during  the   two   months   of 
/  under  the  same  roof  with  her,  Elizabeth  felt  at 
a  resentful  consciousness  that   Mrs.   Richie  was 
'  of  that  ungovernable  temper,  which,  the  girl  used 
<     say,   impatiently,    "never  hurts   anybody  but  my 
self!"     Like    most    high-tempered    people,    Elizabeth, 
though  penitent  and  more  or  less  mortified  by  her  out 
bursts  of  fury,  was  always  a  little  astonished  when  any 
one  took  them  seriously;    and  Mrs.  Richie  took  them 
very  seriously. 

193 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Nannie,  being  far  simpler  than  Elizabeth,  was  less 
impressed  by  Mrs.  Richie  than  by  her  surroundings; — 
the  ocean,  the  whole  gamut  of  marine  sights  and  hap 
penings;  Mrs.  Richie's  housekeeping;  the  delicate  food 
and  serving  (what  would  Harris  have  thought  of  that 
table!) — all  these  things,  as  well  as  David's  fortnightly 
visits,  and  Elizabeth's  ardors  and  gay  coldnesses,  were 
delights  to  Nannie.  Both  girls  had  an  absorbingly 
good  time,  and  when  the  last  day  of  the  last  week  finally 
arrived,  and  Mr.  Robert  Ferguson  appeared  to  escort 
them  home,  they  were  both  of  them  distinctly  doleful. 

"Every  perfect  thing  stops!"  Elizabeth  sighed  to 
David.  They  had  left  the  porch,  and  gone  down  on  to 
the  sands  flooded  with  moonlight  and  silence.  The 
evening  was  very  still  and  warm,  and  the  full  blue  pour 
of  the  moon  made  everything  softly  unreal,  except  the 
glittering  path  of  light  crossing  the  breathing,  black  ex 
panse  of  water.  David  had  hesitated  when  she  had 
suggested  leaving  the  others  and  coming  down  here  by 
themselves, — then  he  had  looked  at  Nannie,  sitting  be 
tween  Robert  Ferguson  and  his  mother,  and  seemed  to 
reassure  himself;  but  he  was  careful  to  choose  a  place 
on  the  beach  where  he  could  keep  an  eye  on  the  porch. 
He  was  talking  to  Elizabeth  in  his  anxious  way,  about 
his  work,  and  how  soon  his  income  would  be  large 
enough  for  them  to  marry.  "The  minus  sign  expresses 
it  now,"  he  said;  "I  could  kick  myself  when  I  think 
that,  at  twenty-six,  my  mother  has  to  pay  my  wash 
woman!"  Their  engagement  had  continued  to  accentu 
ate  the  difference  in  the  development  of  these  two; 
David's  manhood  was  more  and  more  of  the  mind; 
Elizabeth's  womanhood  was  most  exquisitely  of  the 
body.  When  he  spoke  of  his  shame  in  being  supported 
by  his  mother,  she  leaned  her  cheek  on  his  shoulder, 
careless  of  the  three  spectators  on  the  porch,  and  said 
softly,  "David,  I  love  you  so  that  I  would  like  to 
scrub  floors  for  you."  He  laughed;  "I  wouldn't  like 

194 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  have  you  scrub  floors,  thank  you!  Why  in  thunder 
don't  I  get  ahead  faster,"  he  sighed.  Then  he  told  her 
that  the  older  men  in  the  profession  were  "so  darned 
mean,  even  the  big  fellows,  'way  up,"  that  they  kept  on 
practising  when  they  could  just  as  well  sit  back  on  their 
hind  legs  and  do  nothing,  and  give  the  younger  men  a 
chance. 

"They  are  nothing  but  money-grabbers,"  Elizabeth 
agreed,  burning  with  indignation  at  all  successful  physi 
cians.  "But  David,  we  can  live  on  very  little.  Corn- 
beef  is  very  cheap,  Cherry-pie  says.  So's  liver." 

Up  on  the  porch  the  conversation  was  quite  as  prac 
tical  as  it  was  down  by  the  moonlit  water: 

"Elizabeth  js  to  have  a  little  bit  of  money  handed 
over  to  her  on  her  next  birthday,"  Mr.  Ferguson  was 
saying;  then  he  twitched  the  black  ribbon  of  his  glasses 
and  brought  them  tumbling  from  his  nose;  "it's  an  in 
heritance  from  her  father." 

"Oh,  how  exciting!"  said  Nannie.  "Will  it  make  it 
possible  for  them  to  be  married  any  sooner?" 

"They  can't  marry  on  the  interest  on  it,"  he  said, 
with  his  meager  laugh;  "it's  only  a  nest-egg." 

Mrs.  Richie  sighed.  "Well,  of  course  they  must  be 
prudent,  but  I  am  sorry  to  have  them  wait.  It  will  be 
some  time  before  David's  practice  is  enough  for  them  to 
marry  on.  He  is  so  funny  in  planning  their  housekeep 
ing  expenses,"  she  said,  with  that  mother-laugh  of 
mockery  and  love.  "You  should  hear  the  economies 
they  propose!"  And  she  told  him  some  of  them.  "They 
make  endless  calculations  as  to  how  little  they  can  possi 
bly  live  on.  You  would  never  suppose  they  could  be  so 
ignorant  as  to  the  cost  of  things!  Of  course  I  enlighten 
them  when  they  deign  to  consult  me.  I  do  wish  David 
would  let  me  give  him  enough  to  get  married  on,"  she 
ended,  a  little  impatiently. 

"I  think  he's  right  not  to,"  Robert  Ferguson  said. 

"  David  is  so  queer  about  money,"  Nannie  commented; 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

and  rose,  saying  she  wanted  to  go  indoors  to  the  lamp 
light  and  her  book. 

"Pity  Blair  hasn't  some  of  David's  'queerness, '"  Mr. 
Ferguson  barked,  when  she  had  vanished  into  the  house. 

Mrs.  Richie  looked  after  her  uneasily,  missing  her 
protecting  presence.  But  in  Mr.  Ferguson's  matter-of- 
fact  talk  he  seemed  just  the  same  harsh,  kind,  unsenti 
mental  neighbor  of  the  last  seventeen  years;  "he's 
forgotten  his  foolishness,"  she  thought,  and  resigned  her 
self,  comfortably,  to  Nannie's  absence.  "Does  Eliza 
beth  know  about  the  legacy  ?"  she  asked. 

"No,  she  hasn't  an  idea  of  it.  I  was  bound  that  the 
expectation  of  money  shouldn't  spoil  her." 

"Well,"  she  jeered  at  him,  " I  do  hope  you  are  satisfied 
now t  that  she  is  not  spoiled  by  money  or  anything  else! 
How  afraid  you  were  to  let  yourself  really  love  the  child 
—poor  little  Elizabeth!" 

"I  had  reason,"  he  insisted  doggedly.  "Life  had 
played  a  trick  on  me  once,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  not 
to  build  on  anybody  again,  until  I  was  sure  of  them." 
Then,  without  looking  at  her,  he  said,  as  if  following  out 
some  line  of  thought,  "  I  hope  you  have  come  to  feel  that 
you  will  marry  me,  Mrs.  Richie?" 

11  Oh!"  she  said,  in  dismay. 

"I  don't  see  why  you  can't  make  up  your  mind  to  it," 
he  continued,  frowning;  "I  know" — he  stopped,  and 
put  on  his  glasses  carefully  with  both  hands — "I  know 
I  am  a  bear,  but — " 

"  You  are  not!" 

"Don't  interrupt.  I  am.  But  not  at  heart.  Listen 
to  me,  at  my  age,  talking  about  'hearts'!"  They  both 
laughed,  and  then  Mr.  Ferguson  gave  a  snort  of  im 
patience.  "Look  at  those  two  youngsters  down  there, 
engaged  to  be  married,  and  swearing  by  the  moon  that 
nobody  ever  loved  as  they  do.  How  absurd  it  is!  A 
man  has  to  be  fifty  before  he  knows  enough  about  love 
to  get  married." 

196 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Nonsense!" 

"I  cannot  take  youth  seriously,"  he  ruminated;  "its 
behavior,  yes;  that  may  be  serious  enough!  Youth  is 
always  firing  the  Ephesian  dome;  but  youth  itself,  and 
its  opinions,  always  seem  to  me  a  little  ridiculous.  Yet 
those  two  infants  seem  to  think  that  they  have  dis 
covered  love!  Well,"  he  interrupted  himself,  in  sudden 
somber  memory /'I  felt  that  way  once  myself.  And 
yet  now,  I  know — " 

Mrs.  Richie  said  hurriedly  something  about  its  being 
too  damp  for  Elizabeth  on  the  sand.  "  Do  call  them  in !" 

He  laughed.  "No;  you  don't  need  'em.  I  won't  say 
any  more — to-night." 

" Here  they  come!"  Mrs.  Richie  said  in  a  relieved  voice. 

A  minute  before,  David,  looking  up  at  the  porch,  and 
discovering  Nannie's  absence,  had  said,  "Let's  go  in." 
"Oh,  must  we?"  Elizabeth  said,  reluctantly.  "I'd  so 
much  rather  sit  down  here  and  have  you  kiss  me."  But 
she  came,  perforce,  for  David,  in  his  anxiety  not  to  leave 
his  mother  alone  with  Mr.  Ferguson,  was  already  half 
way  up  the  beach. 

"Do  tell  Elizabeth  about  the  money  now,"  Mrs. 
Richie  s&d. 

"I  will,"  said  Robert  Ferguson;  but  added,  under 
his  breath,  "I  sha'n't  give  up,  you  know."  Mrs.  Richie 
was  careful  not  to  hear  him. 

"Elizabeth!"  she  said,  eagerly.  "Your  uncle  has 
some  news  for  you."  And  Mr.  Ferguson  told  his  niece 
briefly,  that  on  her  birthday  in  December  she  would 
come  into  possession  of  some  money  left  her  by  her 
father. 

"Don't  get  up  your  expectations,  it's  not  much," 
he  said,  charily,  "but  it's  something  to  start  on." 

"Oh,  Uncle!  how  splendid!"  she  said,  and  caught 
David's  hand  in  both  of  hers.  "David!" — her  face 
was  radiantly  unconscious  of  the  presence  of  the  others ; 
"perhaps  we  needn't  wait  two  years?" 

197 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I'm  afraid  it  won't  make  much  difference."  David 
spoke  rather  grimly;  "I  must  be  able  to  buy  your  shoe 
strings  myself,  you  know,  before  we  can  be  married." 

Elizabeth  dropped  his  hand,  and  the  dimple  straigh 
tened  in  her  cheek. 

Mrs.  Richie  smiled  at  her.  "  Young  people  have  to 
be  prudent,  dear  child." 

"How  much  money  shall  I  have,  Uncle?"  Elizabeth 
asked  coldly. 

He  told  her.  "Not  a  fortune;  but  David  needn't 
worry  about  your  shoestrings." 

"Yes,  I  will,"  he  broke  in,  with  a  laugh.  "She'll 
have  to  go  barefoot,  if  I  can't  get  'em  for  her!" 

Elizabeth  exclaimed,  with  angry  impatience,  and 
Robert  Ferguson,  chuckling,  struck  him  lightly  on  the 
shoulder.  "Look  out  you  don't  fall  over  backward  try 
ing  to  stand  up  straight!"  he  said. 

The  possibility  of  an  earlier  wedding-day  was  not 
referred  to  again.  The  next  morning  they  all  went  up 
to  town  together  in  the  train,  and  Elizabeth,  who  had 
recovered  from  her  momentary  displeasure,  did  no 
more  than  cast  glowing  looks  at  David — lovely,  melting 
looks  of  delicate  passion,  as  virginal  as  an  opening  lily — 
looks  that  said,  "I  wish  we  did  not  have  to  wait!"  For 
her  part,  she  would  have  been  glad  "to  go  barefoot," 
if  only  they  might  the  sooner  tread  the  path  of  life  to 
gether. 

When  they  got  into  Mercer,  late  in  the  evening,  who 
should  meet  them  at  the  station  but  Blair.  Robert 
Ferguson,  with  obvious  relief,  immediately  handed  his 
charges  over  to  the  young  man  with  a  hurried  explana 
tion  that  he  must  see  some  one  on  business  before  going 
to  his  own  house.  "Take  the  girls  home,  will  you, 
Blair?"  Blair  said  that  that  was  what  he  was  there 
for.  His  method  of  taking  them  home  was  to  put  Nan 
nie  into  one  carriage,  and  get  into  another  with  Eliza 
beth,  who,  a  little  surprised,  asked  where  Nannie  was. 

198 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"It  would  delay  you  to  go  round  to  our  house  first/' 
Blair  explained.  "You  forget  we  live  in  the  slums. 
And  Nannie's  in  a  hurry,  so  I  sent  her  directly  home. 
She  doesn't  mind  going  by  herself,  you  know.  Look 
here,  you  two  girls  have  been  away  an  abominably 
long  time  !  I've  been  terribly  lonely — without  Nan 
nie." 

He  had  indeed  been  lonely  "without  Nannie."  In 
these  empty,  meaningless  weeks  at  the  Works,  Blair 
Maitland  had  suddenly  stumbled  against  the  negations 
of  life.  Hitherto,  he  had  known  only  the  easy  and 
delightful  assents  of  Fate;  this  was  his  first  experience 
with  the  inexorable  No.  A  week  after  the  girls  went 
East,  he  admitted  to  himself  that,  had  David  been  out 
of  the  way,  he  would  undoubtedly  have  fallen  in  love 
with  Elizabeth.  "As  it  is,  of  course  I  haven't,"  he  de 
clared.  Night  after  night  in  those  next  weeks,  as  he 
idled  moodily  about  Mercer's  streets,  or,  lounging  across 
the  bridge,  leaned  on  the  handrail  and  watched  the 
ashes  from  his  cigar  flicker  down  into  the  unseen  current 
below,  he  said  the  same  thing:  "I  am  not  in  love  with 
her,  and  I  sha'n't  allow  myself  to  be.  I  won't  let  it  go 
any  farther.  But  David  is  no  man  for  a  girl  like  Eliza 
beth  to  marry."  Then  he  would  fall  to  thinking  just 
what  kind  of  man  Elizabeth  ought  to  marry.  Such 
reflections  proved,  so  he  assured  himself,  how  entirely 
he  knew  that  she  belonged  to  David.  Sometimes  he 
wondered  sullenly  whether  he  had  not  better  leave  Mer 
cer  before  she  came  back  ?  Perhaps  it  was  his  god  who 
made  this  suggestion;  if  so,  he  did  not  recognize  a 
divine  voice.  He  always  decided  against  such  a  course. 
It  would  be  cowardly,  he  told  himself,  to  keep  away 
from  Elizabeth.  "I  will  see  her  when  she  gets  home, 
just  as  usual.  To  stay  away  might  make  her  think  that 
I  was — afraid.  And  I  am  not  in  the  least,  because  I 
am  not  in  love  with  her,  and  I  shall  not  allow  myself  to 
be."  He  was  perfectly  sure  of  himself,  and  perfectly 

199 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

sincere,  too;  what  lover  has  ever  understood  that  love 
has  nothing  to  do  with  volition ! 

Now,  alone  with  her  in  the  old  depot  carriage,  his 
sureness  permitted  him  to  say,  significantly, 

"I  have  been  terribly  lonely — without  Nannie." 

"I  thought  you  were  absorbed  in  business  cares," 
she  told  him  drolly.  "How  do  you  like  business,  Blair, 
really?" 

"Loathe  it,"  he  said  succinctly.  "Elizabeth,  come 
and  take  dinner  with  us  to-morrow  evening  ? ' ' 

"Oh.  Nannie's  had  enough  of  me.  She's  been  with 
me  for  nearly  two  months." 

"  I  haven't  been  with  you  for  two  months.  Be  a  good 
girl,  and  do  some  missionary  work.  Slumming  is  the 
fashion,  you  know.  Come  and  cheer  me  up.  It's  been 
fiendishly  stupid  without  you." 

She  laughed  at  his  sincerely  gloomy  voice. 

"Come,"  he  urged;  "we'll  have  dinner  in  the  back 
parlon  Do  you  remember  that  awful  dinner-party?" 
He  laughed  as  he  spoke,  but — being  '  sure ' ; — in  the  dark 
ness  of  the  shabby  hack  he  looked  at  her  intently.  .  .  . 
Oh,  if  David  were  only  out  of  the  way! 

"Remember  it?  I  should  think  I  did!"  There  was 
no  telltale  flicker  on  her  smooth  cheek;  even  in  the 
gloom  of  the  carriage  he  could  see  that  the  dark  amber 
of  her  eyes  brimmed  over  with  amusement,  and  the 
dimple  deepened  entrancingly.  "How  could  I  forget 
it?  Didn't  I  wear  my  first  long  dress  to  that  dinner 
party — oh,  and  my  six-button  gloves?" 

"I—  '  said  Blair,  and  paused.  "/  remember  other 
things  than  the  gloves  and  long  dress,  Elizabeth." 
(Why  shouldn't  he  say  as  much  as  that  ?  He  was  certain 
of  himself,  and  David  was  certain  of  her,  so  why  not  speak 
of  what  it  gave  him  a  rapturous  pang  to  remember  ?) 

But  at  his  words  the  color  whipped  into  her  cheek; 
her  clear  brows  drew  together  into  a  slight  frown.  "How 
is  your  mother,  Blair?"  she  said  coldly. 

200 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Oh,  very  well.  Can  you  imagine  Mother  anything 
but  well  ?  The  heat  has  nearly  killed  me,  but  Mother 
is  iron." 

"She's  perfectly  wonderful!" 

"Yes;  wonderful  woman,"  he  agreed  carelessly. 
"Elizabeth,  promise  you'll  come  to-morrow  evening?" 

"Cherry-pie  would  think  it  was  horrid  in  me  not  to 
stay  with  her,  when  I've  been  away  so  long." 

"  I  think  it's  horrid  in  you  not  to  stay  with  me." 

She  laughed;  then  sighed.  "David  is  working 
awfully  hard,  Blair." 

"Darn  David!"  he  retorted,  laughing.  "So  am  I,  if 
that's  any  reason  for  your  giving  a  man  your  society." 

"  You !     You  couldn't  work  hard  to  save  your  life." 

"I  could,  if  I  had  somebody  to  work  for,  as  David 
has." 

"  You'd  better  get  somebody,"  she  said  gaily. 

"I  don't  want  any  second-bests,"  he  declared. 

"Donkey!"  Elizabeth  said  good-naturedly.  But  she 
was  a  little  surprised,  for  whatever  else  Blair  was,  he 
was  not  stupid — and  such  talk  is  always  stupid.  That 
it  had  its  root  in  anything  deeper  than  chaffing  never 
occurred  to  her.  They  were  at  her  own  door  by  this 
time,  and  Blair,  helping  her  out  of  the  carriage,  looked 
into  her  face,  and  his  veins  ran  hot. 

The  next  morning,  when  he  went  to  see  Nannie,  he 
was  absorbed  and  irritable.  "Girls  are  queer,"  he  told 
her;  "they  marry  all  kinds  of  men.  But  I'll  tell  you  one 
thing:  David  is  the  last  man  for  a  girl  like  Elizabeth. 
He  is  perfectly  incapable  of  understanding  her." 

That  was  the  first  day  that  he  did  not  assure  himself 
that  he  "was  not  in  love." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THAT  autumn,  with  its  heats  and  brown  fogs  and 
sharp  frosts,  was  the  happiest  time  in  Sarah  Maitland's 
life — the  happiest  time,  at  least,  since  those  brief  months 
of  marriage; — Blair  was  in  the  Business!  "If  only  his 
father  could  see  him!"  she  used  to  say  to  herself.  Of 
course,  she  had  moments  of  disappointment;  once  or 
twice  moments  of  anger,  even;  and  once,  at  any  rate, 
she  had  a  moment  of  fright.  She  had  summoned  her 
son  peremptorily  to  go  with  her  to  watch  a  certain 
experiment.  Blair  appeared,  shrinking,  bored,  absent- 
minded,  nearly  an  hour  later  than  the  time  she  had  set. 
That  put  her  in  a  bad  humor  to  start  with;  but  as  they 
were  crossing  the  Yards,  her  irritation  suddenly  deepened 
into  dismay :  Blair,  his  lip  drooping  with  disgust  at  the 
sights  and  sounds  about  him,  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
was  lounging  along  behind  her,  and  she,  realizing  that 
he  was  not  at  her  side,  stopped  and  looked  back.  He 
was  standing  still,  looking  up,  his  eyes  radiant,  his  lips 
parted  with  delight. 

"What  is  it?"  she  called.  He  did  not  hear  her;  he 
stood  there,  gazing  at  three  white  butterflies  that  were 
zigzagging  into  a  patch  of  pale  blue  sky.  How  they 
had  come  into  this  black  and  clamorous  spot,  why  they 
had  left  their  fields  of  goldenrod  and  asters  farther  down 
the  river,  who  can  say  ?  But  here  they  were,  darting  up 
and  up,  crossing,  dipping,  dancing  in  the  smoky  sun 
shine  that  flooded  thinly  the  noisy  squalor  of  the  Yards. 
Blair,  looking  at  them,  said,  under  his  breath,  in  pure 
delight,  "Yes,  just  like  the  high  notes.  A  flight  of 
violin  notes!" 

202 


THE     IRON    WOMAN 

"Blair!"  came  the  impatient  voice;  "what's  the 
matter  \vith  you?" 

"Nothing,  nothing." 

"  I  was  just  going  to  tell  you  that  a  high  silicon  pig — " 

"My  dear  mother,"  he  interrupted  wearily,  "there  is 
something  else  in  the  world  than  pig.  I  saw  three  butter 
flies — " 

"Butterflies!" 

She  stood  in  the  cinder  pathway  in  absolute  conster 
nation.  Was  her  son  a  fool  ?  For  a  moment  she  was  so 
startled  that  she  was  not  even  angry.  "Come  on,"  she 
said  soberly;  and  they  went  into  the  Works  in  silence. 

That  evening,  when  he  dropped  into  supper,  she 
watched  him  closely,  and  by  and  by  her  face  lightened  a 
little.  Of  course,  to  stop  and  gape  up  into  the  air  was 
silly;  but  certainly  he  was  talking  intelligently  enough 
now, — though  it  was  only  to  Elizabeth  Ferguson,  who 
happened  to  be  taking  supper  with  them.  Yes,  he  did 
not  look  like  a  fool.  "He  has  brains,"  she  said  to  her 
self,  frowning,  "but  why  doesn't  he  use  'em?"  She 
sighed,  and  called  out  loudly,  "Harris!  Corn-beef!" 
But  as  she  hacked  off  a  slab  of  boiled  meat,  she  won 
dered  why  on  earth  Nannie  asked  Elizabeth  to  tea  so 
often,  and  especially  why  she  asked  her  on  those  evenings 
when  Blair  happened  to  be  at  home.  "Elizabeth  is  such 
a  little  blatherskite,"  she  reflected,  good-naturedly, 
"the  boy  doesn't  get  a  chance  to  talk  to  me!"  Then  it 
occurred  to  her  that  perhaps  he  came  because  Elizabeth 
came  ?  for  it  was  evident  that  she  amused  him.  Well, 
Sarah  Maitland  had  no  objection.  To  secure  her  son  for 
her  dingy  supper  table  she  was  willing  to  put  up  with 
Elizabeth  or  any  other  girl.  But  certainly  Nannie  in 
vited  her  very  often.  "I'll  come  in  to-night,  if  you'll 
invite  Elizabeth,"  Blair  would  bribe  her.  And  Nannie, 
like  Mrs.  Maitland  herself,  would  have  invited  anybody 
to  gain  an  hour  of  her  brother's  company. 

Those  four  weeks  had  committed  Blair  Maitland  to  his 

203 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

first  real  passion.  He  was  violently  in  love,  and  now  he 
acknowledged  it.  The  moment  had  come  when  his 
denials  became  absurd,  even  to  himself,  so  he  no  longer 
said  he  did  not  love  her;  he  merely  said  he  would  never 
let  her  know  he  loved  her.  "  If  she  doesn't  know  it,  I  am 
square  with  David,"  he  argued.  Curiously  enough, 
when  he  said  "David,"  he  always  thought  of  David's 
mother.  He  was  profoundly  unhappy,  and  yet  ex 
hilarated — there  is  always  exhilaration  in  the  aching 
melancholy  of  hopeless  love;  but  somewhere,  back  in 
his  mind,  there  was  probably  the  habit  of  hope.  He 
had  always  had  everything  he  wanted,  so  why  should 
not  fate  be  kind  now  ? — of  course  without  any  question 
able  step  on  his  part.  "I  will  never  tell  her,"  he  as 
sured  himself;  the  words  stabbed  him,  but  he  meant 
them.  He  only  wished,  irrationally  enough,  that  Mrs. 
Richie  might  know  how  agonizingly  honorable  he 
was. 

Elizabeth  herself  did  not  know  it;  she  had  not  the 
slightest  idea  that  he  was  in  love  with  her.  There  were 
probably  two  reasons  for  an  unconsciousness  which 
was  certainly  rather  unusual,  for  a  woman  almost  always 
knows.  Some  tentacles  of  the  soul  seem  brushed  by  the 
brutalities  of  the  material  fact,  and  she  knows  and  re 
treats — or  advances.  Elizabeth  did  not  know,  and  so 
did  not  retreat.  Perhaps  one  reason  for  her  naive  stupid 
ity  was  the  commonplaceness  of  her  relations  with  Blair. 
She  had  known  him  all  her  life,  and  except  for  that  one 
childish  playing  at  love,  which,  if  she  ever  remembered 
it,  seemed  to  her  entirely  funny,  she  had  never  thought 
of  him  in  any  other  way  than  as  "Nannie's  brother"; 
and  Nannie  was,  for  all  practical  purposes,  her  sister. 
Another  reason  was  her  entire'  absorption  in  her  own 
love-affair.  Ever  since  she  had  learned  of  the  little 
legacy,  the  ardent  thought  had  lurked  in  her  mind  that 
it  might,  somehow,  in  spite  of  David's  absurd  theories 
about  shoestrings,  hasten  her  marriage. 

204 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"With  all  this  money,  why  on  earth  should  we  wait?" 
she  fretted  to  Nannie. 

"My  dear!  you  couldn't  live  on  the  interest  of  it!" 
"  I  don't  know  why  not,"  Elizabeth  said,  wilfully/ 
"Goose!"    Nannie    said,    much    amused.     "No;     the 
only  thing  you  could  do  would  be  to  live  on  your  princi 
pal.     Why  don't  you  do  that?" 

Elizabeth  looked  suddenly  thoughtful.  When  she 
went  home  she  repeated  Nannie's  careless  words  to  Miss 
White,  who  nibbled  doubtfully,  and  said  she  never  heard 
of  such  a  thing.  But  after  that,  for  days,  they  talked  of 
household  economies,  and  with  Cherry-pie's  help  Eliza 
beth  managed  to  pare  down  those  estimates  which  had  so 
diverted  her  uncle  and  Mrs.  Richie.  With  such  practical 
preoccupations  no  wonder  she  was  unconscious  of  the 
change  in  Blair.  Suddenly,  like  a  stone  flung  through 
the  darkness  at  a  comfortably  lighted  domestic  window, 
she  saw,  with  a  crash  of  fright,  a  new  and  unknown  Blair, 
a  man  who  was  a  complete  and  dreadful  stranger. 

It  was  dusk;  she  had  come  in  to  see  Nannie  and  talk 
over  that  illuminating  suggestion:  why  not  live  on  the 
principal?  But  Nannie  was  not  at  home,  so  Elizabeth 
sat  down  in  the  firelight  in  the  parlor  to  wait  for  her. 
She  sat  there,  smiling  to  herself,  eager  to  tell  Nannie 
that  she  had  argued  Cherry-pie  into  admitting  that  the 
plan  of  "living  on  the  principal"  was  at  least  feasible; 
and  also  that  she  had  sounded  her  uncle,  and  believed 
that  if  she  and  David  and  Cherry-pie  attacked  him,  all 
together,  they  could  make  him  consent! — "  But  of  course 
David  will  simply  have  to  insist,"  she  thought,  a  little 
apprehensively,  "for  Uncle  Robert  is  so  awfully  sensible." 
Then  she  began  to  plan  just  how  she  must  tell  David  of 
this  brilliant  idea,  and  make  him  understand  that  they 
need  not  wait;  "as  soon  as  he  really  understands  it,  he 
won't  listen  to  any  'prudence'  from  Uncle!"  she  said,  her 
eyes  crinkling  into  a  laugh.  But  how  should  she  make 
him  understand?  She  must  admit  at  once  (because 

205 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

he  was  so  silly  and  practical)  that,  of  course,  the  interest 
on  her  money  would  not  support  them.  Then  she  must 
show  him  her  figures — David  was  always  crazy  about 
figures!  Well,  she  had  them;  she  had  brought  them  with 
her  to  show  Nannie;  they  proved  conclusively  that  she 
and  David  could  live  on  her  capital  for  at  least  two 
years.  It  would  certainly  last  as  long  as  that,  perhaps 
even  for  two  years  and  a  half !  When  they  had  exhausted 
it,  why,  then,  David's  income  from  his  profession  would 
be  large  enough;  large  enough  even  if — she  blushed  no 
bly,  sitting  there  alone  looking  into  the  fire;  "even  if!" 
Thinking  this  all  out,  absorbed  and  joyous,  a  little  jealous 
because  this  practical  idea  had  come  to  Nannie  and  not 
to  her,  she  did  not  hear  Blair  enter.  He  stood  beside  her 
a  moment  in  silence  before  she  was  aware  of  his  presence. 
Then  she  looked  up  with  a  start,  and  leaning  back  in  her 
chair,  the  firelight  in  her  face,  smiled  at  him:  "Where's 
Nannie?" 

"I  don't  know.  Church,  I  think.  But  I  am  glad  of 
it.  I  would  rather — see  you  alone."  His  voice  trembled. 

He  had  come  in,  in  all  the  unrest  of  misery;  he  had  said 
to  himself  that  he  was  going  to  "tell  Nannie,  anyhow." 
The  impulse  to  "tell"  had  become  almost  a  physical 
necessity,  and  when  he  came  into  the  room,  the  whole 
unhappy,  hopeless  business  was  hot  on  his  lips.  The 
mere  unexpectedness  of  finding  her  here,  alone,  was  like 
a  touch  against  that  precariously  balanced  sense  of 
honor,  which  was  his  god,  and  had  so  far  kept  him,  as  he 
expressed  it  to  himself,  "square  with  David." 

To  Elizabeth,  sitting  there  in  friendly  idleness  by  the 
fire,  the  thrill  in  his  voice  was  like  some  palpable  touch 
against  her  breast.  Without  knowing  why,  she  put  her 
hand  up,  as  if  warding  something  off.  She  was  be 
wildered  ;  her  heart  began  to  beat  violently.  Instantly, 
at  the  sight  of  the  lovely,  startled  face,  the  rein  broke. 
He  forgot  David,  he  forgot  his  god,  with  whom  he  had 
been  juggling  words  for  the  last  two  months,  he  forgot 

206 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

everything,  except  the  single,  eternal,  primitive  purpose : 
there  was  the  woman  he  wanted.  And  all  his  life,  if  he 
had  wanted  anything,  he  had  had  it.  With  a  stifled  cry, 
he  caught  her  hand:  "Elizabeth — I  love  you!" 

"Stop!"  she  said,  outraged  and  astounded;  "stop  this 
instant!" 

"I  must  speak  to  you." 

"You  shall  not  speak  to  me!"  She  was  on  her  feet, 
trying  with  trembling  fingers  to  put  on  her  hat. 

"Elizabeth,  wait!"  he  panted,  "wait;  listen — I  must 
speak — "  And  before  she  knew  it,  he  had  caught  her 
in  his  arms,  and  she  felt  his  breath  on  her  mouth.  She 
pushed  him  from  her,  gasping  almost,  and  looking  at  him 
in  anger  and  horror. 

"How  dare  you?" 

"Listen;  only  one  minute!" 

"I  will  not  listen  one  second.  Let  me  out  of  this 
room — out  of  this  house!" 

"Elizabeth,  forgive  me!     I  am  mad!" 

"You  are  mad.  I  will  never  forgive  you.  Stand 
aside.  Open  the  door." 

"Elizabeth,  I  love  you!  I  love  you!  Won't  you 
listen—?" 

But  she  had  gone,  flaming  with  anger  and  humiliation. 

When  Nannie  came  in  an  hour  later,  her  brother  was 
sitting  with  his  head  bowed  in  his  hands.  The  room 
was  quite  dark;  the  fire  had  died  down.  The  fire  of 
passion  had  died  down,  too,  leaving  only  shame  and 
misery  and  despair.  His  eyes,  hidden  in  his  bent  arms, 
were  wet;  he  was  shaken  to  the  depths  of  his  being.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  come  against  a  thwarted 
desire.  The  education  that  should  have  been  spread 
over  his  whole  twenty-five  years,  an  education  that 
would  have  taught  him  how  to  meet  the  negations  of  life, 
of  duty,  of  pity  even,  burst  upon  him  now  in  one  shatter 
ing  moment.  He  had  broken  his  law,  his  own  law;  and, 
mercifully,  his  law  was  breaking  him. 
14  207 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

When  he  rose  to  his  feet  as  his  sister  came  into  the 
room,  he  staggered  under  the  shock  of  such  concentrated 
education. 

"Blair!     What  is  it?"  she  said,  catching  his  arm. 

"Nothing.     Nothing.     I've  been  a  fool.     Let  me  go." 

"But  tell  me!     I'm  frightened.     Blair!" 

"It's  nothing,  I  tell  you.  Nannie!  Will  she  ever 
look  at  me  again  ?  Oh  no,  no ;  she  will  never  forgive  me ! 
Why  was  I  such  a  fool?" 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  poor  Nannie  said.  It 
came  into  her  head  that  he  had  suddenly  gone  out  of 
his  senses. 

Blair  sank  down  again  in  a  heap  on  his  chair. 

"I've  been  a  damned  fool.  I'm  in  love  with  Eliza 
beth,  and — and  I  told  her  so." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

OF  course,  with  that  scene  in  the  parlor,  all  the  intima 
cies  of  youth  were  broken  short  off;  although  between 
the  two  girls  some  sort  of  relationship  was  patched  up. 
Nannie,  thrown  suddenly  into  the  whirlpool  of  her 
brother's  emotions,  was  almost  beside  herself  with  dis 
tress;  she  was  nearly  twenty-eight  years  old,  but  this 
was  her  first  contact  with  the  primitive  realities  of 
life.  With  that  contact, — which  made  her  turn  away 
her  horrified,  virginal  eyes;  was  the  misery  of  knowing 
that  Blair  was  suffering.  She  was  ready  to  annihilate 
David,  had  such  a  thing  been  possible,  to  give  her 
brother  what  he  wanted.  As  David  could  not  be  made 
non-existent,  she  did  her  best  to  comfort  Blair  by  try 
ing  to  make  Elizabeth  forgive  him.  The  very  next  day 
she  came  to  plead  that  Blair  might  come  himself  to  ask 
for  pardon.  Elizabeth  would  not  listen: 

"Please  don't  speak  of  it." 

"But  Elizabeth—" 

"I  am  perfectly  furious,  and  I  am  very  disgusted. 
I  never  want  to  see  Blair  again!" 

At  which  Blair's  sister  lifted  her  head. 

"Of  course,  he  ought  not  to  have  spoken  to  you,  but  I 
think  you  forget  that  he  loved  you  long  before  David 
did." 

"Nonsense!"  Elizabeth  cried  out  impatiently. 

But  Nannie's  tears  touched  her.  "  Nannie,  I  can't  see 
him,  and  I  won't;  but  I'll  come  and  see  you  when  he  is 
not  there."  At  which  Nannie  flared  again. 

"If  you  are  angry  at  my  brother,  and  can't  forgive 
209 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

just  a  momentary,  a  passing  feeling, — which,  after  all, 
Elizabeth,  is  a  compliment;  at  least  everybody  says  it's 
a  compliment  to  have  a  man  say  he  loves  you — " 

VNot  if  you're  engaged  to  another  man!"  Elizabeth 
burst  in,  scarlet  to  her  temples. 

"  Blair  loved  you  before  David  thought  of  you." 

"Now,  Nannie,  don't  be  silly." 

"  If  you  can't  overlook  it,  because  of  our  old  friendship, 
you  will  have  to  drop  me,  too,  Elizabeth." 

Nannie  was  so  pitiful  and  trembling  that  Elizabeth  put 
her  arms  around  her.  "I'll  never  drop  you,  dear  old 
Nannie!" 

So,  as  far  as  the  two  girls  were  concerned,  the  habit 
of  affection  persisted;  but  Mrs.  Maitland  was  not  an 
noyed  by  having  Elizabeth  present  when  Blair  came  to 
supper. 

Blair  did  not  come  to  supper  very  often  now;  lie  did 
not  come  to  the  Works.  "Is  your  brother  sick?"  Sarah 
Maitland  asked  her  stepdaughter  three  or  four  days 
later.  "He  hasn't  been  at  his  desk  since  Monday. 
What's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"He  is  worried  about  something,  Mamma." 

"  Worried  ?  What  on  earth  has  he  got  to  worry  him  ?" 
she  grunted.  In  her  own  worry  she  had  come  across 
the  hall  to  speak  to  Nannie,  and  find  out,  if  she  could, 
something  about  Blair.  As  she  turned  to  go  back  to  the 
dining-room,  a  little  more  uneasy  than  when  she  came  in, 
her  eye  fell  on  that  picture  which  Blair  had  left,  a  small 
oasis  in  the  desert  of  Nannie's  parlor,  and  with  her  hand 
on  the  door-knob  she  paused  to  look  at  it.  The  sun  was 
lying  on  the  dark  oblong,  and  in  those  illuminated  depths 
maternity  was  glowing  like  a  'jewel.  Sarah  Maitland 
saw  no  art,  but  she  saw  divine  things.  She  bent  for 
ward  and  looked  deep  into  the  picture;  suddenly  her 
eyes  smiled  until  her  whole  face  softened.  "Why,  look 
at  his  little  foot,"  she  said,  under  her  breath;  "she's 
holding  it  in  her  hand!"  She  was  silent  for  a  moment; 

210 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

then  she  spoke  as  if  to  herself:  "When  Blair  was  as  big 
as  that,  I  bought  him  a  pair  of  green  morocco  slippers. 
I  don't  suppose  you  remember  them,  Nannie?  They 
buttoned  round  the  ankle;  they  had  white  china  but 
tons.  He  used  to  try  to  pick  the  buttons  off."  She 
smiled  again  vaguely;  then  blinked  as  if  awakening  from 
a  dream,  and  blew  a  long  bubbling  sigh  through  her 
closed  lips;  "  I  can't  imagine  why  he  doesn't  come  to  the 
office!" 

In  the  dining-room,  as  she  took  up  her  pen,  she  frowned. 
"Debt  again?"  she  asked  herself.  But  when,  absorbed 
and  irritable,  Blair  came  into  her  office  at  the  Works,  and 
sat  down  at  his  desk  to  write  endless  letters  that  he  tore 
up  as  soon  as  they  were  written,  she  did  not  ask  for  any 
explanation.  She  merely  told  Robert  Ferguson  to  tell 
the  bookkeeper  to  make  a  change  in  the  pay-roll.  "I'm 
going  to  raise  Blair's  salary,"  she  said.  Money  was  the 
only  panacea  Mrs.  Maitland  knew  anything  about. 

That  next  fortnight  left  its  marks  on  Blair  Maitland. 
People  who  have  always  had  what  they  want,  have  a  sort 
of  irrational  certainty  of  continuing  to  have  what  they 
want.  It  makes  them  a  little  unhumanly  young.  Blair's 
face,  which  had  been  as  irresponsible  as  a  young  faun's, 
suddenly  showed  those  scars  of  thwarted  desire  which 
mean  age.  There  was  actual  agony  in  his  sweet,  shallow 
eyes,  and  with  it  the  half-resentful  astonishment  of  one 
who,  being  unaccustomed  to  suffering,  does  not  know  how 
to  bear  it.  He  grew  very  silent;  he  was  very  pale;  in  his 
pain  he  turned  to  his  sister  with  an  openness  of  emotion 
which  frightened  and  shamed  her;  he  had  no  self-control 
and  no  dignity. 

"I  must  see  her.  I  must,  I  must!  Go  and  ask  her  to 
see  me  for  a  moment.  I've  disgusted  her" — Nannie 
blushed:  "but  I'll  make  her  forgive  me."  Sometimes 
he  burst  out  in  rages  at  David:  "What  does  he  know 
about  love?  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he  for  Elizabeth? 
She's  a  girl  now,  but  if  he  gets  her,  God  help  him  when 

211 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

she  wakes  up,  a  woman !  Not  that  /  mean  to  try  to  get 
her.  Understand  that.  Nothing  is  farther  from  my 
mind  than  that.  She  belongs  to  him;  I  play  fair.  I 
don't  pretend  to  be  a  saint,  but  I  play  fair.  I  don't  cut 
in,  when  the  man's  my  friend.  No;  I  just  want  to  see 
her  and  ask  her  to  forgive  me.  That's  all.  Nannie,  for 
God's  sake  ask  her  if  she  won't  see  me,  just  for  five 
minutes!" 

He  quivered  with  despair.  Twice  he  went  himself  to 
Mr.  Ferguson's  house.  The  first  time  Miss  White  wel 
comed  him  warmly,  and  scuttled  up-stairs  saying  she 
would  "tell  Elizabeth."  She  came  down  again,  very 
soberly.  "Elizabeth  is  busy,  Blair,  and  she  says  she 
can't  see  you."  The  next  time  he  called  he  was  told  at 
the  door  that  "Miss  Elizabeth  asks  to  be  excused." 
Then  he  wrote  to  her:  "All  I  ask  is  that  you  shall  see  me, 
so  that  I  can  implore  you  to  pardon  me." 

Elizabeth  tore  the  letter  up  and  threw  it  into  the  fire. 
But  she  softened  a  little.  "Poor  Blair,"  she  said  to  her 
self,  "but  of  course  I  shall  never  forgive  him." 

She  had  not  told  David  what  Blair  had  done.  "He 
would  be  furious,"  she  thought.  "I'll  tell  him  later — 
when  we  are  married  " ;  at  the  word,  the  warm,  beautiful 
wave  of  young  love  rose  in  her  heart;  "later,  when  I 
belong  to  him,  I  will  tell  him  everything!"  She  would 
tell  him  everything  just  as  she  would  give  him  every 
thing  ;  not  that  she  had  much  to  give  him — only  herself 
and  her  little  money.  That  blessed  money,  on  which  he 
and  she  could  live  for  two  years, — she  was  going  to  give 
him  that !  For  she  and  Nannie  and  Cherry-pie  had  de 
cided  that  if  the  money  were  his,  by  a  gift,  then  David, 
who  was  perfectly  crazy  and  noble  about  independence, 
would  feel  that  he  and  Elizabeth  were  living  on  his 
money,  not  hers.  It  was  an  artless  and  very  feminine 
distinction,  but  serious  enough  to  the  three  women  who 
were  all  so  young — Elizabeth,  in  fact,  being  the  oldest, 
and  Cherry-pie,  at  sixty- three,  the  youngest.  And  not 

212 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

only  had  they  discovered  this  way  of  overcoming  David's 
scruples  about  a  shorter  engagement,  but  Elizabeth  had 
had  another  inspiration :  why  not  be  married  on  the  very 
day  that  the  money  came  into  her  possession?  "Oh, 
splendid!"  said  Nannie;  but  she  spoke  with  an  effort,  re 
membering  Blair.  A  little  timidly,  Elizabeth  had  told 
her  uncle  of  this  wonderful  plan  about  the  money.  He 
snorted  with  amusement  at  her  way  of  whipping  the 
devil  round  the  stump  by  a  "gift"  to  David;  but  after 
a  rather  startled  moment,  although  he  would  not  com 
mit  himself  to  a  date,  he  was  inclined  to  think  an  earlier 
marriage  practicable.  We  are  selfish  creatures  at  best, 
all  of  us:  Elizabeth's  way  of  being  happy  herself  opened 
a  possibility  of  happiness  for  her  uncle.  "Mrs.  Richie 
can't  make  David  an  excuse  for  saying  'no,'  if  the  boy 
gets  a  home  of  his  own,"  he  thought;  and  added  to 
himself,  "of  course,  when  the  child's  money  is  used  up, 
I'll  help  them  out."  But  to  his  niece  he  only  barked 
warningly:  "Well,  let's  hear  what  David  has  to  say;  he 
has  some  sense." 

"Do  you  think  there's  much  doubt  as  to  what  he'll 
say?"  Elizabeth  said;  and  the  dimple  deepened  so  en- 
trancingly  that  Robert  Ferguson  gave  her  a  meager  kiss. 
After  securing  this  somewhat  tentative  consent,  Eliza 
beth  and  Cherry-pie  decided  that  the  next  thing  to  do 
was  to  "make  David  write  to  uncle,  and  simply  insist 
that  the  wedding  shall  be  next  month!"  Her  plan  was 
very  simple:  when  David  came  to  Mercer  to  spend  her 
birthday,  he  should  receive,  at  the  same  moment,  her 
money  and  herself. 

That  future  time  of  sacramental  giving  and  of  com 
plete  taking  was  in  her  thoughts  with  tenderness  and 
shame  and  glory,  as  it  is  in  the  thought  of  every  woman 
who  loves  and  forgets  herself.  Yes,  he  could  have  her 
now;  but  he  must  take  her  money!  That  was  the  price 
he  had  to  pay — the  taking  of  her  money.  That  it  would 
be  a  high  price  to  a  man  with  his  peculiarly  intense  feel- 

213 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ing  about  independence,  Elizabeth  knew;  but  he  would 
be  willing  to  pay  it!  Elizabeth  could  not  doubt  that. 
No  price  could  be  too  high,  he  loved  her  so!  She 
shivered  with  happiness  at  the  thought  of  how  he  loved 
her;  some  soft  impulse  of  passion  made  her  lift  her  round 
wrist, — that  bitten  wrist!  to  her  mouth,  and  kiss  it,  hard. 
David  had  kissed  it,  many  times!  Yes;  she  was  his  if 
he  would  pay  the  price!  She  was  going  to  tell  him  so, 
and  then  wait,  glowing,  and  shrinking,  and  eager,  for  him 
to  come  and  "take  her." 

It  was  so  true,  so  limpid,  this  noble  flame  that  burned 
in  her,  that  she  almost  forgot  Blair's  behavior;  the 
only  thing  she  thought  of  was  her  plan,  and  the  difficulty 
of  putting  it  into  the  cold  limits  of  pen  and  ink!  But 
with  much  joyous  underlining  of  important  words  she 
did  succeed  in  stating  it  to  him.  She  told  him,  not 
only  the  practical  details,  but  with  a  lovely,  untram 
melled  outpouring  of  her  soul  which  was  sacrificial,  she 
told  him  that  she  wanted  to  be  his  wife.  She  had  no 
reserves;  it  was  an  elemental  moment,  and  the  matter  of 
what  is  called  modesty  had  no  place  in  her  ardent  purity. 
It  rarely  has  a  place  in  organic  impulses.  In  connection 
with  death,  or  birth,  or  love,  modesty  is  only  a  rather 
puerile  self-consciousness.  So  Elizabeth,  who  had  never 
been  self-conscious  in  her  life,  told  David,  with  perfect 
simplicity,  that  she  "wanted  to  be  married."  She  said 
she  had  "worked  the  money  part  of  it  out,"  and  ac 
cording  to  her  latest  estimate  of  how  much,  or  rather 
how  little,  they  could  live  on,  it  was  possible.  "  You  will 
say,  we  haven't  even  as  much  as  this,"  she  wrote,  after 
she  had  stated  what  seemed  to  be  the  minimum  income ; 
then,  triumphantly:  "we  have!  the  money  Uncle  is 
going  to  give  me  on  my  birthday!  If  we  live  on  it, 
instead  of  hoarding  it  up,  it  will  last  at  least  two  years! 
I've  talked  to  Uncle  about  it,  and  I'm  pretty  sure  he  will 
consent;  but  you'd  better  write  and  urge  him, — just  in 
sist!"  Then  she  approached  the  really  difficult  matter  of 

214 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

making  David  agree  to  live  on  money  that  was  not  his. 
She  admitted  that  she  knew  how  he  felt  on  such  matters. 
"And  you  are  all  wrong,"  she  declared  candidly,  "wrong, 
and  a  goose.  But,  so  long  as  you  do  feel  so,  why,  you 
needn't  any  longer.  For  I  am  going  to  give  the  money 
to  you.  It  is  to  be  yours,  not  mine.  You  can't  refuse  to 
use  the  money  that  is  yours,  that  comes  to  you  as  a 
'  gift '  ?  It  will  be  as  much  yours  as  if  somebody  left  it 
to  you  in  their  will,  and  you  can  burn  it  up,  if  you  want 
to!"  And  when  " business "  "had  been  written  out,  her 
heart  spoke: 

"Dear"  (she  stopped  to  kiss  the  paper),  "dear,  I  hope 
you  won't  burn  it  up,  because  I  am  tired  of  waiting,  and 
I  hope  you  are  too;" — when  she  wrote  those  last  words, 
she  was  suddenly  shy;  "Uncle  is  to  give  me  the  money 
on  my  birthday — let  us  be  married  that  day.  I  want 
to  be  married.  I  am  all  yours,  David,  all  my  soul,  and 
all  my  mind,  and  all  my  body.  I  have  nothing  that  is 
not  yours  to  take;  so  the  money  is  yours.  No,  I  will 
not  even  give  it  to  you !  it  belongs  to  you  already — as  I 
do.  Dear,  come  and  take  it — and  me.  I  love  you — 
love  you — love  you.  /  want  you  to  take  me.  I  want  to 
be  your  wife.  Do  you  understand?  I  want  to  belong 
to  you.  I  am  yours." 

So  she  tried,  this  untutored  creature,  to  put  her  soul 
and  body  into  words,  to  write  the  thing  that  cannot  even 
be  spoken,  whose  utterance  is  silence.  The  mailing  of 
the  letter  was  a  rite  in  itself;  in  the  dusk,  as  she  held  the 
green  lip  of  the  post-box  open,  she  kissed  the  envelope, 
as  she  had  kissed  the  glowing  sheet  an  hour  before.  She 
said  to  herself  that  she  was  "too  happy  to  live!"  As  she 
said  it,  a  wave  of  pity  blotted  out  her  usual  shamed  re 
sentment  at  that  poor  mother  of  hers  who  had  not  been 
happy; — and  whose  lack  of  self-control  was,  Elizabeth 
believed,  her  legacy  to  her  child.  But  her  gravity  was 
only  for  a  moment;  forgetting  Blair,  and  the  possible 

215 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

chance  of  meeting  him,  she  flew  down  to  Nannie's  to 
tell  her  that  the  die  had  been  cast — the  letter  had  been 
written !  Nannie,  sitting  by  herself  in  the  parlor,  brood 
ing  over  her  brother's  troubles,  was  trying  to  draw;  but 
Elizabeth  brushed  aside  pencils  and  crusts  of  bread  and 
india-rubbers,  and  flung  her  arms  about  her,  pressing 
her  face  against  hers  and  pouring  the  happy  secret  into 
her  ear: 

"Oh,  Nannie — I've  told  him!  We'll  be  married  on 
my  birthday.  Go  ahead  and  get  your  dress!"  she  said, 
breathlessly,  and  Nannie  tried  her  best  to  be  happy,  too. 

For  the  next  three  days  Elizabeth  moved  about  in  a 
half-dream,  sometimes  reddening  suddenly;  sometimes 
breathing  a  little  quickly,  with  a  faint  fright  in  her  eyes, 
— had  she  said  too  much  ?  would  he  understand  ?  Then 
a  gush  of  confident  love  filled  her  like  music.  "  I  couldn't 
say  too  much !  I  want  him  to  know  that  I  feel — that  way . ' ' 

When  David  read  that  throbbing  letter,  he  grew  scar 
let  to  his  temples.  There  had  been  many  moments  dur 
ing  their  engagement  when  Elizabeth,  in  slighter  ways, 
had  bared  her  soul  to  him,  and  always  he  had  had  the 
impulse  to  cover  his  eyes,  as  in  a  holy  of  holies.  He  had 
never,  in  those  moments,  dared  to  take  advantage  of 
such  divine  nakedness,  even  by  a  kiss.  But  she  had 
never  before  trusted  her  passion  to  the  coldness  of  pen 
and  ink;  it  had  had  the  accompaniment  of  eyes  and 
lips,  and  eager,  breaking  voice.  Perhaps  if  the  letter 
had  come  at  a  different  moment,  he  could  more  easily 
have  called  up  that  voice,  and  those  humid  eyes;  he 
might  have  felt  again  th^  rose  -  pressure  of  the  soft 
mouth.  As  it  was,  he  read  it  in  troubled  preoccupation; 
then  reddened  sharply:  he  was  a  worthless  cuss;  he 
couldn't  stand  on  his  own  legs  and  get  married  like  a 
man;  his  girl  had  to  urge  her  uncle  to  let  her  support 
her  lover!  "Damn,"  said  David  softly. 

A  letter  is  a  risky  thing;  the  writer  gambles  on  the 
reader's  frame  of  mind.  David's  frame  of  mind  when  he 

216 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

read  those  words  about  urging  Robert  Ferguson,  was  not 
hospitable  to  other  people's  generosity,  for  Elizabeth's 
hot  letter  came  on  what  had  been,  figuratively  speaking, 
a  very  cold  day.  In  the  morning  he  had  been  repri 
manded  by  the  House  officer  for  some  slight  forgetful- 
ness — a  forgetfulness  caused  by  his  absorption  in  plan 
ning  an  experiment  in  the  laboratory.  At  noon  he 
made  the  experiment,  which,  instead  of  crowning  a 
series  of  deductions  with  triumphant  proof,  utterly 
failed.  Then  he  had  had  pressing  reminders  of  bills,  still 
unpaid,  for  a  pair  of  trousers  and  a  case  of  instruments, 
and  he  had  admitted  to  himself  that  he  would  have  to 
ask  his  mother  for  the  money  to  meet  them.  "I  am  a 
fizzle,  all  round,"  he  had  told  himself  grimly.  "Can't 
remember  anything  overnight.  Can't  count  on  a  dog 
gone  reaction.  Can't  pay  for  my  own  pants !  I  won't  be 
able  to  marry  for  ten  years,  if  Elizabeth  is  wise,  she 
will  throw  me  over.  She'll  be  tired  of  waiting  for  me, 
before  I  can  earn  enough  to  buy  my  instruments — let 
alone  the  shoe-strings  Mr.  Ferguson  talked  about!" 

Then  her  letter  came.  It  was  a  spur  on  rowelled  flesh. 
Elizabeth  was  tired  of  waiting!  She  said  so.  But  she 
would  help  him;  she  had  induced  her  uncle  to  consent 
that  she  should  "give"  him  money;  that  she  should, 
in  fact,  suppport  him! — just  as  his  mother  had  been  do 
ing  all  his  life.  He  was  sore  with  disappointment  at 
himself,  yet,  when  he  answered  her  letter  his  eyes  stung 
at  the  thought  of  the  loveliness  of  her  love!  He  held 
her  letter  in  his  hand  as  he  wrote,  and  once  he  put  it  to 
his  lips.  All  the  same  he  wrote,  as  he  had  to  write,  la 
conically: 

"DEAR  ELIZABETH, — I'm  sure  Mr.  Ferguson  will  agree 
with  me  that  your  money  cannot  be  mine,  by  any  gift. 
Calling  it  so  won't  make  it  so.  Anyhow,  it  would  not 
support  us  two  years.  By  that  time,  as  things  look  now, 
I  shall  probably  not  be  earning  any  kind  of  an  income. 

217 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

I  am  sorry  you  are  tired  of  waiting,  but  I  can't  let  you  be 
imprudent.  And  apart  from  prudence,  I  could  not  re 
spect  myself  if  you  supported  me.  It  has  been  misery 
to  me  to  have  Materna  saddled  with  a  big,  lazy  brute  of  a 
fellow  like  me,  who  ought  by  this  time  to  be  taking 
care  of  you  both.  I  am  sure,  if  you  think  it  over,  you 
would  be  ashamed  of  me  if  I  asked  your  uncle  to  help 
me  out  by  letting  you  marry  me  now.  Anyhow,  I  should 
be  ashamed  of  myself.  Well,  the  Lord  only  knows 
when  I  will  come  up  to  time!  You  might  as  well  make 
up  your  mind  to  it  that  I'm  a  fizzle.  I  am  discouraged 
with  myself  and  everything  else,  and  I  see  you  are  too; 
Heaven  knows  I  don't  blame  you.  I  know  you  think  it 
is  an  awfully  long  time  to  wait,  but  it  isn't  as  long  to 
you  as  it  is  to  me.  Dear,  I  love  you;  I  can't  tell  you 
how  I  love  you.  I  haven't  words,  as  you  have,  but  you 
know  I  do — and  yet  sometimes  I  feel  as  if  I  oughtn't  to 
marry  you." 

Elizabeth,  running  down  the  steps  to  meet  the  post 
man,  saw  a  familiar  imprint  on  the  corner  of  an  envel 
ope,  and  drew  it  from  the  pack  before  the  good-natured 
man  could  hand  it  to  her. 

"Guess  you  don't  want  no  Philadelphia  letter?"  he 
said  slyly. 

"Of  course  I  don't!"  she  retorted;  and  the  trudg 
ing  postman  smiled  for  a  whole  block  because  of 
the  light  in  her  face.  In  the  house,  the  letter  in  her 
hand,  she  stopped  to  hug  Miss  White.  "Cherry-pie!  the 
letter  has  come.  I'm  to  be  married  on  my  birthday!" 

"Oh,  my  lamb,"  said  Cherry-pie,  "however  shall  I 
get  things  ready  in  time!"  Elizabeth  did  not  wait  to 
help  her  in  her  housekeeping  anxieties.  She  fled  singing 
up  to  her  room. 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  joyful,  joyful,  joyful, 
Oh,  that  will  be  joyful, 
To  meet  to  part  no  more!" 
218 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Then  she  opened  the  letter.  .  .  .  She  read  the  last  lines 
with  unseeing  eyes;  the  first  lines  were  branding  them 
selves  into  her  soul.  She  folded  the  brief  sheet  with 
deliberation,  and  slowly  put  it  back  into  the  envelope. 
Then  the  color  began  to  fall  out  of  her  face.  Her  eyes 
smoldered,  glowed,  then  suddenly  blazed:  "He  is  sorry 
I  am  tired  waiting." 

Something  warm,  like  a  lifting  tide  of  heat,  was  rising 
just  below  her  breast-bone;  it  rose,  and  rose,  and  surged, 
until  she  gasped,  and  cried  out  hoarsely:  "If  'I  think  it 
over,'  I'll  be  'ashamed,'  will  I?  'Couldn't  respect  him 
self?  What  about  me  respecting  myself?"  And  the 
intolerable  wave  of  heat  still  rose,  swelling  and  bursting 
until  it  choked  her;  she  was  strangling!  She  clutched 
at  her  throat,  then  flung  out  clenched  hands.  "He 
'can't  let'  me  marry  him?  It's  'a  long  time  for  me  to 
wait ' !  I  must  '  make  up  my  mind  to  it ' !  I  hate  him — 
I  want  to  kill  him — I  want  to  tear  him !  What  did  I  tell 
him?  'to  come  and  take  me'?  And  he  doesn't  want 
me!  And  Nannie  knows  I  told  him  to  come,  and  Miss 
White  and  Uncle  know  it.  And  they  will  know  he 
didn't  want  me.  Oh,  how  could  I  have  told  him  I 
wanted  him?  I  must  kill  him.  I  must  kill  myself — " 
Her  wild  outpouring  of  words  was  without  sense  or 
meaning  to  her.  She  shuddered  violently,  something 
crimson  seemed  to  spread  before  her  eyes,  but  the  pallor 
of  her  face  was  ghastly.  She  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  the  room.  Once  she  unfolded  the  letter,  and 
glancing  again  at  those  moderate  words,  laughed  loudly. 
"'His,'"  she  said,  "I  told  him  I  was  'his'?  I  must 
have  been  out  of  my  head.  Well,  I'll  'think  it  over!' 
I'll  'think  it  over!' — he  needn't  worry  about  that. 
Oh,  I  could  kill  myself!  And  I  told  Cherry-pie  I  was 
going  to  be — "  she  could  not  speak  the  word.  She 
stood  still  and  gasped  for  breath. 

The  paroxysm  was  so  violent,  and  so  long  in  coming 
to  its  height  before  there  could  be  any  ebb,  that  suddenly 

219 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

she  reeled  slightly.  A  gray  mist  seemed  to  roll  up 
out  of  the  corners  of  the  room.  She  sank  down  on 
the  floor,  crumpling  up  against  her  bed.  When  she 
opened  her  eyes,  the  mist  had  gone,  and  she  felt  very 
stiff  and  a  little  sick.  "Why,  where  am  I?"  she  said 
aloud,  "what's  the  matter  with  me?"  Then,  dully,  she 
remembered  David's  letter.  "  I  was  so  angry  I  fainted," 
she  thought,  in  listless  astonishment.  For  the  moment 
she  was  entirely  without  feeling,  neither  angry,  nor 
wounded^  nor  ashamed.  Then,  little  by  little,  the  dread 
ful  wave,  which  had  ebbed,  began  to  rise  again.  But  now 
it  was  cold,  not  hot.  She  said  to  herself,  quietly,  that 
she  would  write  to  David  Richie,  and  tell  him  she  had 
'thought  it  over ' ;  and  that  neither  she  nor  her  money  was 
his,  or  any  further  concern  of  his.  "He  needn't  trouble 
himself;  there  would  be  no  more  'imprudence.'  Oh,  fool! 
fool !  immodest  fool !  to  have  told  him  he  '  could  have  her 
for  the  taking,'  and  he  said  it  was  'long'  for  her  to  wait!" 
It  was  an  unbearable  recollectiono  "His,"  she  had  said; 
"  soul  and  body."  She  saw  again  the  written  words  that 
she  had  kissed,  and  she  had  an  impulse  to  tear  the  flesh 
of  the  lovely  young  body  she  had  offered  this  man,  and 
he  had — declined.  "His?"'  She  blushed  until  she  had 
to  put  her  cold  hands  on  her  cheeks  and  forehead  to  ease 
the  scorch.  The  modesty  which  a  great  and  simple 
moment  had  obliterated  came  back  with  intolerable 
sharpness. 

By  and  by  she  got  on  her  feet  and  dragged  herself  to  a 
chair;  she  looked  very  wan  and  languid.  For  the  mo 
ment  the  fire  was  out.  It  had  burned  up  precious 
things. 

"I'll  write  to  him  to-morrow,"  she  thought.  And 
through  the  cold  rage  she  felt  a  hot  stab  of  satisfaction; 
her  letter — "a  rather  different  letter,  this  time!"  would 
make  him  suffer!  But  not  enough.  Not  enough.  She 
wished  she  could  make  him  die,  as  she  was  dying.  But 
she  could  not  write  at  that  moment;  the  idea  of  taking 

220 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

up  a  pen  turned  her  sick  with  the  remembrance  of  what 
her  pen  had  written  three  days  before.  Instead  of 
writing,  she  would  go  out  and  walk,  and  walk,  and  walk, 
and  think  how  she  could  punish  him — how  she  could  kill 
him!  Where  should  she  go?  Never  mind!  anywhere; 
anywhere.  Just  let  her  get  out,  let  her  be  alone,  where 
nobody  could  speak  to  her.  How  could  she  ever  speak 
to  people  again?  —  to  Miss  White,  who  was  down  in 
the  dining-room,  now,  planning  for  the — wedding!  To 
Nannie,  who  knew  that  David  had  been  summoned,  and 
who  must  be  told  that  he  refused  to  come;  to  Blair,  who 
would  guess — she  paused,  remembering  that  she  was 
angry  with  Blair.  There  was  a  perceptible  instant  be 
fore  she  could  recollect  why;  when  she  did,  she  felt  a 
pang  of  relief  in  her  agony  of  humiliation.  Blair,  what 
ever  else  he  was,  was  a  man,  a  man  who  could  love  a 
woman!  It  occurred  to  her  that  the  girl  Blair  loved 
would  not  be  thought  immodest  if  she  showed  him  how 
much  she  loved  him. 

She  began  to  put  on  her  things  to  go  out,  and  as  she 
fastened  her  hat  she  looked  at  herself  in  the  glass.  "I 
have  a  wicked  sort  of  face,"  she  thought,  with  a  curious 
detachment  from  the  situation  which  was  almost  that  of 
an  outside  observer.  She  packed  a  small  hand-bag,  and 
then  opened  her  purse  to  see  if  she  had  money  enough  to 
carry  out  a  vague  plan  of  going  somewhere  to  spend  the 
night,  "to  get  away  from  people."  It  was  noon  when 
she  went  down-stairs;  in  the  hall  she  called  to  Miss 
White  that  she  was  going  out. 

"But  it's  just  dinner-time,  my  lamb,"  Miss  White 
called  back  from  the  dining-room;  "and  I  must  talk  to 
you  about — " 

"I  —  I  want  to  see  Nannie,"  Elizabeth  said,  in  a 
smothered  voice.  It  occurred  to  her  that,  later,  she 
would  go  and  tell  Nannie  that  she  had  broken  her  en 
gagement;  it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  do  that,  at 
any  rate! 

221 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Oh,  you're  going  to  take  dinner  with  her?"  Miss 
White  said,  peering  out  into  the  hall;  "well,  tell  her  to 
come  in  this  afternoon  and  let  us  talk  things  over. 
There  is  so  much  to  be  done  between  now  and  the 
wedding,"  Cherry-pie  fretted  happily. 

"Wedding!"  Elizabeth  said  to  herself;  then  slipped 
back  the  latch  of  the  front  door:  "I  sha'n't  come  back 
until  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  my  lamb!"  Miss  White  remonstrated,  "I  must 
ask  you  some  questions  about  the  wedding!"  Then 
she  remembered  more  immediate  questions:  "Is  your 
satchel  packed?  Have  you  plenty  of  clean  pocket- 
handkerchiefs?  Elizabeth!  be  careful  not  to  take  cold, 
and  ask  Nannie  how  many  teaspoons  she  can  lend  us — " 
The  door  slammed.  It  seemed  to  Elizabeth  that  she 
could  never  look  Cherry-pie  in  the  face  again.  She  had  a 
frantic  feeling  that  if  she  could  not  escape  from  that 
intolerable  insistence  on  the — the  wedding,  she  would 
die.  In  the  street,  the  mere  cessation  of  Miss  White's 
joyous  twittering  was  a  relief.  Well,  she  must  go  where 
she  could  be  alone.  She  walked  several  blocks  before 
she  thought  of  Willis's;  it  would  take  at  least  two  hours 
to  get  there,  and  she  could  think  things  over  without 
interruption.  She  would  think  how  she  could  save  her 
self-respect  before  Miss  White  and  her  uncle  and  Nannie ; 
and  she  would  also  think  of  some  dreadful  way,  some 
terrible  way  to  punish  David  Richie!  Yes;  she  would 
walk  out  to  Willis's.  .  .  . 

"Elizabeth!"  some  one  said,  at  her  elbow,  and  with  a 
start  she  turned  to  see  Blair.  As  they  looked  at  each 
other,  these  two  unhappy  beings,  each  felt  a  faint  pity 
for  the  other.  Blair's  face  was  haggard;  Elizabeth's 
was  white  to  the  point  of  ghastliness,  but  there  was  a 
smudge  of  crimson  just  below  the  glittering  amber  of  her 
eyes.  "Elizabeth!"  he  said,  shocked,  "what  is  it? 
You  are  ill!  What  has  happened?" 

"Nothing.  I — am  tired."  She  was  so  unconscious 
222 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

of  everything  but  the  maelstrom  realization  that  she 
hated  David  that  she  did  not  remember  that  the  hesitat 
ing  man  beside  her  was  under  the  ban  of  her  displeasure. 
Her  only  thought  was  that  she  wished  he  would  leave 
her  to  herself. 

"Dark  day,  isn't  it?"  Blair  said;  but  his  voice  broke 
in  his  throat. 

"I  think  we  are  going  to  have  rain,"  Elizabeth  an 
swered,  mechanically.  She  was  perfectly  unaware  of 
what  she  said,  for  at  that  moment  she  saw,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  street,  the  friendly  postman  who  two  hours 
ago  had  brought  her  David  Richie's  insult;  now,  his 
empty  pouch  over  his  shoulder,  he  was  trudging  back  to 
the  post-office.  Against  the  clamoring  fury  of  her 
thoughts  and  the  instant  vision  of  David's  letter,  Blair's 
presence  was  no  more  to  her  than  the  brush  of  a  wing 
across  the  surface  of  a  torrent. 

As  for  Blair,  he  was  dazed,  and  then  ecstatic.  She 
had  not  sent  him  away!  She  was  perfectly  matter-of- 
fact!  "'/  think  we  are  going  to  have  rain.'"  She  must 
have  forgiven  him!  "May  I  walk  home  with  you, 
Elizabeth?"  he  said  breathlessly. 

"I'm  not  going  home.     I  am — just  walking." 

"So  am  I,"  he  said.  He  had  got  himself  in  hand  by 
this  time ;  every  faculty  was  alert ;  he  had  his  chance  to 
ask  for  pardon!  "Come  out  to  Mrs.  Todd's,  and  have 
some  pink  ice-cream.  Elizabeth,  do  you  remember  the 
paper  roses  on  those  dreadful  marble-topped  tables  that 
were  sort  of  semi-transparent?" 

Elizabeth  half  smiled.  "I  had  forgotten  them;  how 
horrid  they  were!"  With  the  surface  of  her  mind  she 
was  conscious  that  his  presence  was  a  relief;  it  was  like 
a  veil  between  her  and  the  flames. 

Blair,  watching  her  furtively,  said:  "I'll  treat.  Come 
along,  let's  have  a  spree!" 

"You  always  did  do  the  treating,"  she  said  absently. 
Blair  laughed.  The  primitive  emotions  are  always 

15  223 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

naked;  but  how  inevitably  most  of  us  try  to  cover  them 
with  the  fig-leaf  of  trivial  speech — a  laugh,  perhaps,  or  a 
question  about  the  weather;  somehow,  in  some  way,  the 
nakedness  must  be  covered!  So  now,  Love  and  Hate, 
walking  side  by  side  in  Mercer's  murky  noon,  were  for 
the  moment  hidden  from  each  other.  Blair  laughed, 
and  said  he  would  make  her  "treat"  for  a  change,  and 
she  replied  that  she  couldn't  afford  it. 

At  the  toll-house  he  urged  again,  with  gay  obstinacy. 
" Oh,  come  in!  You  needn't  eat  the  stuff,  but  just  for 
the  fun  of  the  thing;  Mrs.  Todd  will  be  charmed  to  see  us, 
I'm  sure." 

"Well,"  Elizabeth  agreed;  for  a  moment  the  vapid 
talk  was  like  balm  laid  upon  burnt  flesh.  Then  sud 
denly  she  remembered  how  David  had  sprung  up  that 
snowy  path  to  the  toll-house,  to  knock  on  the  window 
and  cry,  ''I've  got  her!"  Ah,  he  was  a  little  too  sure; 
a  little  too  sure!  She  was  not  so  easy  to  get  as  all  that, 
not  so  cheap  as  he  seemed  to  think — though  she  had 
offered  herself;  had  even  told  him  she  was  "tired  of 
waiting"!  (And  at  home  Cherry-pie  was  counting  the 
teaspoons  for  the  wedding  breakfast.) 

Blair  heard  that  fierce  intake  of  her  breath,  and  quiv 
ered  without  knowing  why.  "Yes,  let  us  go!"  Eliza 
beth  said  fiercely.  At  least  this  chuckling  old  woman 
should  see  that  David  had  not  "got  her";  she  should 
see  her  with  Blair,  and  know  that  there  were  men  in  the 
world  who  cared  for  her,  if  David  Richie  did  not. 

Mrs.  Todd  was  not  at  home;  perhaps,  if  she  had 
been.  .  .  . 

But  instead  of  the  big,  motherly  old  figure,  beaming  at 
them  from  the  toll-house  door,  a  slatternly  maid-servant 
said  her  mistress  was  out.  "We  ain't  doin'  much  cream 
now,"  she  said,  wrapping  her  arms  in  her  apron  and 
shivering;  "it's  too  cold.  I  ain't  got  anything  but 
vanilla." 

"We'll  have  vanilla,  then,"  Blair  said,  in  his  rather 
224 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

courtly  way,  and  the  girl,  opening  the  door  of  the  "sa- 
loon,"  scurried  off.  "By  Jove!"  said  Blair,  "I  believe 
these  are  the  identical  blue  paper  roses — look  at  them!" 

She  sat  down  wearily.  "I  believe  they  are,"  she  said, 
and  began  to  pull  off  her  gloves.  Outside  in  the  toll 
house  garden  the  frosted  stems  of  last  summer's  flowers 
stood  upright  in  the  snow.  She  remembered  that  Mrs. 
Todd's  geraniums  had  been  glowing  in  the  window  that 
winter  day  when  David  had  shouted  his  triumphant 
news.  Probably  they  were  dead  now.  Everything  else 
was  dead. 

"Still  the  tissue-paper  star  on  the  ceiling!"  Blair  cried, 
gaily,  "yes,  everything  is  just  the  same!"  And  indeed, 
when  the  maid,  glancing  with  admiring  eyes  at  the 
handsome  gentleman  and  the  cross-looking  lady,  put 
down  on  the  semi-translucent  marble  top  of  the  table 
two  tall  glasses  of  ice-cream,  each  capped  with  its  dull 
and  dented  spcon,  the  past  was  completely  reproduced. 
As  the  frowsy  little  waitress  left  them,  they  looked  at  the 
pallid,  milky  stuff,  and  then  at  each  other,  and  their 
individual  preoccupations  thinned  for  a  moment.  Blair 
laughed ;  Elizabeth  smiled  faintly : 

"You  don't  expect  me  to  eat  it,  I  hope?" 

"  I  won't  make  you  eat  it.     Let's  talk." 

But  Elizabeth  took  up  her  gloves.  "I  must  go, 
Blair." 

He  pushed  the  tumblers  aside  and  leaned  toward  her; 
one  hand  gripped  the  edge  of  the  table  until  the  knuckles 
were  white ;  the  other  was  clenched  on  his  knee.  "Eliza 
beth,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "have  you  forgiven  me?" 

"Forgiven  you?  What  for?"  she  said  absently; 
then  remembered  and  looked  at  him  indifferently.  "Oh, 
I  suppose  so.  I  had  forgotten." 

"I  would'nt  have  done  it  if  I  hadn't  loved  you.  You 
know  that." 

She  was  silent. 

"Do  you  hate  me  for  loving  you?" 
225 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

On  Elizabeth's  cheeks  the  smudge  of  crimson  began 
to  flame  into  scarlet.  "I  don't  hate  you.  I  think  you 
were  a  fool  to  love  me.  I  think  anybody  is  a  fool  to  love 
anybody." 

In  a  flash  Blair  understood.  She  had  quarrelled  with 
David! 

It  seemed  as  if  all  the  blood  in  his  body  surged  into  his 
throat;  he  felt  as  if  he  were  suffocating;  but  he  spoke 
quietly.  "Don't  say  I  was  a  fool;  say  I  am  a  fool,  if 
you  want  to.  Because  I  love  you  still.  I  love  you  now. 
I  shall  never  stop  loving  you." 

Elizabeth  glanced  at  him  with  a  sort  of  impersonal 
interest.  So  that  was  the  way  a  man  might  love  ?  ' '  Well, 
I  am  sorry  for  you,  Blair.  I'm  sorry,  because  it  hurts 
to  love  people  who  don't  love  you.  At  least,  I  should 
think  it  did.  I  don't  love  anybody,  so  I  don't  know 
much  about  it." 

"You  have  broken  with  David,"  he  said  slowly. 

"How  did  you  know?"  she  said,  with  a  surprised  look; 
then  added  listlessly,  "  Yes;  I've  done  with  David.  I  hate 
him."  She  looked  blankly  down  at  her  muff,  and  began 
to  stroke  the  fur.  It  occurred  to  her  that  before  going 
to  Willis's  she  must  see  Nannie,  or  else  she  would  have 
told  Miss  White  a  lie;  again  the  double  working  of  her 
mind  interested  her;  rage,  and  a  desire  to  be  truthful, 
were  like  layers  of  thought.  She  noted  this,  even  while 
she  was  saying  again,  between  set  teeth,  "  I  hate 
him." 

"He  has  treated  you  badly,"  Blair  said. 

"How  did  you  know?"  she  said,  startled. 

"I  know  David.  What  does  a  man  like  David  know 
about  loving  a  woman  ?  He  would  talk  his  theories  and 
standards  to  her,  when  he  could  be  silent — in  her  arms!" 
He  flung  out  his  hand  and  caught  her  roughly  by  the 
wrist.  "Elizabeth,  for  God's  sake,  marry  me." 

He  had  risen  and  was  leaning  toward  her,  his  fingers 
gripped  her  wrist  like  a  trap,  his  breath  was  hot  against 

226 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

her  neck,  his  eyes  glowed  into  hers.  "Marry — me, 
Elizabeth." 

The  moment  was  primal;  the  intensity  of  it  was  like 
a  rapier-thrust,  down  through  her  fury  to  the  quick  of 
womanly  consciousness;  she  shrank  back.  "Don't," 
she  said,  faintly;  "don't — "  For  one  instant  she  forgot 
that  she  hated  David.  Instantly  he  was  tender. 

"Dearest,  dearest,  I  love  you.  Be  my  wife.  Eliza 
beth,  I  have  always  loved  you,  always;  don't  you  remem 
ber  ?"  He  was  kneeling  beside  her,  lifting  the  hem  of  her 
skirt  and  kissing  it,  murmuring  crazy  words;  but  he  did 
not  touch  her,  which  showed  that  the  excuse  of  passion 
was  not  yet  complete.  And  indeed  it  was  not,  for  some 
where  in  the  tumult  of  his  mind  he  was  defending  him- 
himself — perhaps  to  his  god:  "7  have  the  right.  It's 
all  over  between  them.  Any  man  has  the  right  now." 
Then,  aloud:  "Elizabeth,  I  love  you.  I  shall  love  you 
forever.  Marry  me.  Now.  To-night."  When  he  said 
that,  it  was  as  if  he  had  struck  his  god  upon  the  mouth 
— for  the  accusing  Voice  ceased.  And  when  it  ceased, 
he  no  longer  defended  himself.  Elizabeth  looked  at  him, 
dazed.  "No,  I  know  you  don't  care  for  me,  now,"  he 
said.  "Never  mind  that!  I  will  teach  you  to  care;  I 
will  teach  you — "  he  whispered:  "the  meaning  of  love! 
He  couldn't  teach  you;  he  doesn't  know  it  himself;  he 
doesn't" — he  was  at  a  loss  for  a  word;  some  instinct 
gave  him  the  right  one — "want  you." 

It  was  the  crack  of  the  whip !  She  answered  it  with 
a  look  of  hate.  But  still  she  was  silent. 

"You  love  him,"  he  flung  at  her. 

"I  do  not.  I  hate  him!  hate  him!  hate  him!  I  wish 
he  were  dead  in  this  room,  so  I  could  trample  on  him!" 
Even  in  the  scorch  of  that  insane  moment,  Blair  Mait- 
land  flinched  at  such  a  declaration  of  hate.  Hate  like 
that  is  the  left  hand  of  Love.  He  had  sense  enough 
left  in  his  madness  to  know  that,  and  he  could  have 
killed  David  because  he  was  jealous  of  such  precious  hate. 

227 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"You'll  get  over  that,"  he  assured  her;  neither  of 
them  saw  in  such  an  assurance  the  confession  that  he 
knew  she  loved  David  still.  And  still  his  smitten  god 
was  silent!  "You — you  hate  him  because  he  slighted 
you,"  Blair  said,  stammering  with  passion.  "But  for 
God's  sake,  Elizabeth,  show  him  that  you  hate  him. 
Since  he  despises  you,  despise  him!  Will  you  let  him 
slap  you  in  the  face,  and  still  love  him?" 

"I  do  not  love  him." 

They  were  both  standing;  Elizabeth,  staring  at  him 
with  unseeing  eyes,  seemed  to  be  answering  some  fierce 
interrogation  in  her  own  thought:  What?  was  this  the 
way  to  kill  David  Richie  ?  That  it  would  kill  her,  too, 
never  occurred  to  her.  If  it  had  occurred  to  her,  it 
would  have  seemed  worth  while — well  worth  while! 

"Then  why  do  you  let  him  think  you  love  him?" 
Blair  was  insisting,  in  a  violent  whisper,  "why  do  you  let 
him  think  you  are  under  his  heel  still  ?  Show  him  you 
hate  him — if  you  do  hate  him?  Marry  me,  that  will 
show  him." 

They  were  standing,  now,  facing  each  other — Love  and 
Hate.  Love,  radiant,  with  glorious  eyes,  with  beautiful 
parted  lips,  with  outstretched  hands  that  prayed,  and 
threatened,  and  entreated :  "  Come !  I  must  have  you, — 
God,  I  must!"  And  Hate,  black-browed,  shaking  from 
head  to  foot,  with  dreadful  set  stare,  and  hands  clenched 
and  trembling;  hands  that  reached  for  a  dagger  to  thrust, 
and  thrust  again !  Hands  reaching  out  and  finding  the 
dagger  in  that  one,  hot,  whispered  word:  "Come."  Yes; 
that  would  "show  him"! 

"When?"  she  said,  trembling. 

And  he  said,  "Now." 

Elizabeth  flung  up  her  head  with  a  look  of  burning 
satisfaction. 

"Come!"  she  said;  and  laughing  wildly,  she  struck 
her  hand  into  his. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

WHEN  Robert  Ferguson  came  in  to  luncheon  the  next 
day,  he  asked  for  Elizabeth.  "She  hasn't  come  home 
yet  from  Nannie's,"  Miss  White  told  him;  "I  thought 
she  would  be  here  immejetly  after  breakfast.  I  can't 
imagine  what  keeps  her,  though  I  suppose  they  have  a 
great  deal  to  talk  over!" 

"Well,  she'll  have  to  wait  for  her  good  news,"  Mr. 
Ferguson  said;  and  handed  a  telegram  to  Miss  White. 
"Despatch  from  David.  He's  bringing  a  patient  across 
the  mountains  to-night;  says  he'll  turn  up  here  for 
breakfast.  He'll  have  to  go  back  on  the  ten-o'clock 
train,  though." 

Cherry-pie  nibbled  with  excitement;  "I  guess  he  just 
had  to  come  and  talk  the  arrangements  over  with  her!" 

"What  arrangements?"  Mr.  Ferguson  asked,  vaguely; 
when  reminded  by  Miss  White,  he  looked  a  little  startled. 
"Oh,  to  be  sure;  I  had  forgotten."  Then  he  smiled: 

"Well,  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  say  'yes.'  I  think 
I'll  go  East  myself  next  week!"  he  added,  fatuously;  but 
the  connection  was  not  obvious  to  Miss  White. 

"Elizabeth  got  a  letter  from  him  yesterday,"  she  said, 
beaming;  "they've  decided  on  her  birthday — if  you  are 
willing." 

"Willing?  I  guess  it's  a  case  of  'he  had  to  be  re 
signed!'  "  said  Robert  Ferguson — thinking  of  that  trip 
East,  he  was  positively  gay.  But  Cherry-pie's  romance 
lapsed  into  household  concerns:  "We  must  have  some 
thing  the  boy  likes  for  breakfast." 

"Looking  at  Elizabeth  will  be  all  the  breakfast  he 
229 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

wants,"  Elizabeth's  uncle  said,  with  his  meager  chuckle. 
"  David's  as  big  a  donkey  as  any  of  'em,  though  he  hasn't 
the  gift  of  gab  on  the  subject." 

When  he  had  gone  to  his  office,  Miss  White  propped 
the  telegram  up  on  the  table,  so  that  Elizabeth's  eyes 
might  brighten  the  moment  she  opened  the  front  door 
But  to  her  dismay,  Elizabeth  did  not  open  the  door  all 
that  afternoon.  Instead  came  a  note,  plainly  in  her 
hand,  addressed  to  Mr.  Ferguson.  "Why!  she  is  send 
ing  word  that  she's  going  to  stay  all  night  again 
with  Nannie,"  Miss  White  thought,  really  disturbed.  If 
such  a  thing  had  been  possible,  Cherry-pie  would 
have  been  vexed  with  her  beloved  "lamb,"  for  after 
all,  Elizabeth  really  ought  to  be  at  home  attending 
to  things!  Miss  White  herself  had  spent  every  minute 
since  the  wonderful  news  had  been  flung  at  her,  in  attend 
ing  to  things.  She  had  made  a  list  of  the  people  who 
must  be  invited  to  the  wedding,  she  had  inspected  the 
china-closet,  she  had  calculated  how  many  teaspoons 
would  be  needed, — "Better  borrow  some  forks  from 
Nannie,  too,"  she  said,  beginning,  like  every  good  house 
keeper,  to  look  careworn.  "There's  so  much  to  be 
done!"  said  Cherry-pie,  excitedly.  Yet  this  scatter- 
brain  girl  evidently  meant  to  stay  away  from  home  still 
another  night.  "  Well,  she  can't,  that's  all  there  is  to  it !" 
Miss  White  said,  decidedly;  "she  must  come  home,  so  as 
to  be  here  in  the  morning  when  David  arrives.  Per 
haps  I'd  better  go  down  to  Mrs.  Maitland's  and  take 
her  the  despatch." 

She  was  getting  ready  to  go,  when  the  first  rumble  of 
the  hurricane  made  itself  heard.  Nannie  dropped  in, 
and — 

"  'Where's  Elizabeth  ?'  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.  Isn't 
she  at  home?  'Stayed  with  me  last  night?'  Why,  no, 
she  didn't.  I  haven't  seen  Elizabeth  for  two  days, 
and—" 

Nannie  sprang  to  catch  poor  old  Miss  White,  who 
230 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

reeled,  and  then  tried,  as  she  sank  into  a  chair,  to  speak: 
"What?  What?  Not  with  you  last  night?  Nannie! 
She  must  have  been.  She  told  me  she  was  going — " 
Miss  White  grew  so  ghastly  that  Nannie,  in  a  panic, 
called  a  servant. 

"Send  for  her  uncle!"  the  poor  lady  stammered. 
"Send — send.  Oh,  what  has  happened  to  my  child?" 
Then  she  remembered  the  letter  addressed  to  Mr.  Fer 
guson,  lying  on  the  table  beside  David's  telegram.  "Per 
haps  that  will  say  where  she  is.  Oh,  tell  him  to  hurry!" 

When  Robert  Ferguson  reached  home  he  found  the 
two  pallid,  shaking  women  waiting  for  him  in  the  hall. 
Miss  White,  clutching  that  unopened  letter,  tried  to 
tell  him:  Elizabeth  had  not  been  at  Nannie's;  she  had 
not  come  home ;  she  had — 

"Give  me  the  letter,"  he  said.  They  watched  him 
tear  it  open  and  run  his  eye  over  it;  the  next  instant  he 
had  gone  into  his  library  and  slammed  the  door  in  their 
faces. 

Outside  in  the  hall  the  trembling  women  looked  at 
each  other  in  silence.  Then  Nannie  said  with  a  gasp, 
"She  must  have  gone  to — to  some  friend's." 

"She  has  no  friend  she  would  stay  all  night  with  but 
you." 

"Well,  you  see  she  has  written  to  Mr.  Ferguson,  so 
there  can't  be  anything  much  the  matter;  he'll  tell  us 
where  she  is,  in  a  minute!  If  he  can't,  I'll  make  Blair 
go  and  look  for  her.  Dear,  dear  Miss  White,  don't  cry!" 

"There  has  been  an  accident.  Oh,  how  shall  we  tell 
David?  He's  coming  to-morrow  to  talk  over  the  wed 
ding,  and — " 

The  library  door  opened :  "  Miss  White." 

"Mr.  Ferguson!     Where—?     Wliat— ?" 

"Miss  White,  that — creature,  is  never  to  cross  my 
threshold  again.  Do  you  understand  me?  Never 
again.  Nannie,  your  brother  is  a  scoundrel.  Read 
that."  He  flung  the  letter  on  the  floor  between  them, 

231 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

and  went  back  to  his  library.  They  heard  the  key  turn 
in  the  lock.  Miss  White  stared  at  the  shut  door  blankly; 
Nannie  picked  up  the  letter.  It  was  headed  "The 
Mayor's  Office,"  and  was  dated  the  day  before;  no 
address  was  given. 

"Dear  Uncle  Robert:  I  married  Blair  Maitland  this 
afternoon.  David  did  not  want  me.  E.  F." 

They  read  it,  looked  at  each  other  with  astounded 
eyes,  then  read  it  again.  Nannie  was  the  first  to  find 
words : 

' '  I — don't  understand . ' ' 

Miss  White  was  dumb;  her  poor  upper  lip  quivered 
wildly. 

"She  and  David  are  to  be  married,"  Nannie  stam 
mered.  "How  can  she  marry — anybody  else?  I  don't 
understand." 

Then  Miss  White  broke  out«  "/  understand.  Oh, 
wicked  boy!  My  child,  my  lamb!  He  has  killed  my 
child  Elizabeth!" 

"Who  has?  What  do  you  mean?  What  are  you 
talking  about!*' 

"He  has  lured  her  away  from  David,"  the  old  woman 
wailed  shrilly.  "Nannie,  Nannie,  your  brother  is  an 
evil,  cruel  man — a  false  man,  a  false  friend.  Oh,  my 
lamb!  my  girl!" 

Nannie,  staring  at  her  with  horrified  eyes,  was  silent. 
Miss  White  sank  down  on  the  floor,  her  head  on  the 
lowest  step  of  the  staircase ;  she  was  moaning  to  herself : 
"They  quarrelled  about  something,  and  this  is  what  she 
has  done!  Oh,  she  was  mad,  my  lamb,  my  poor  lamb! 
She  was  crazy;  David  made  her  angry;  I  don't  know  how. 
And  she  did  this  frightful  thing.  Oh,  I  always  knew  she 
would  do  some  terrible  thing  when  she  was  angry!" 

Nannie  looked  at  the  closed  door  of  the  library,  then 
at  Miss  White,  lying  there,  crying  and  moaning  to  her- 

232 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

self  with  her  poor  old  head  on  the  stairs;  once  she  tried 
to  speak,  but  Miss  White  did  not  hear  her;  it  was  in 
tolerable  to  see  such  pain.  Blair's  sister,  ashamed  with 
his  shame,  stammered  something,  she  did  not  know 
what,  then  opening  the  front  door,  slipped  out  into  the 
dusk.  The  situation  was  so  incredible  she  could  not 
take  it  in.  Blair  and  Elizabeth — married?  She  kept 
saying  it  over  and  over.  But  it  was  impossible! 
Elizabeth  was  to  marry  David  on  her  birthday.  "I 
feel  as  if  I  were  going  out  of  my  mind!"  Nannie  told 
herself,  hurrying  down  into  Mercer's  black,  noisy  heart. 
When  she  reached  the  squalor  of  Maitland's  shantytown 
and  saw  the  great  old  house  on  the  farther  side  of  the 
street,  looming  up  on  its  graded  embankment,  black 
against  a  smoldering  red  sunset,  she  was  almost  sobbing 
aloud,  and  when  Harris  answered  her  ring,  she  was  in 
such  tension  that  she  burst  out  at  him:  "Harris!  where 
is  Mr.  Blair?  Do  you  know?  Have  you  heard — any 
thing  ?"  She  seized  the  old  man's  arm  and  held  on  to  it. 
"Where  is  Mr,  Blair,  Harris?" 

"My  laws,  Miss  Nannie!  how  do  I  know?  Ain't  he  at 
the  hotel?  There's  a  letter  come  for  you;  it  come  just 
after  you  went  out.  Looks  like  it  was  from  him.  There, 
now,  child!  Don't  you  take  on  like  that!  I  guess  if 
Mr.  Blair  can  write  letters,  there  ain't  much  wrong 
with  him." 

When  he  brought  her  the  letter,  she  made  him  wait 
there  in  the  dimly  lighted  hall  until  sKe  opened  it,  she 
had  a  feeling  that  she  could  not  read  it  by  herself .  "Oh, 
Harris!"  she  said,  and  began  to  tremble;  "it's  true!  He 
did.  .  .  .  They  are — oh,  Harris!"  And  while  the  old 
man  drew  her  into  the  parlor,  and  scuffled  about  to  light 
the  gas  and  bring  her  a  glass  of  water,  she  told  him, 
brokenly — she  had  to  tell  somebody — what  had  hap 
pened.  Harris's  ejaculations  were  of  sheer  amazement, 
untouched  by  disapproval:  "Mr.  Blair?  Married  to 
Miss  Elizabeth?  My  land!  There!  He  always  did  git 

233 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

in  ahead!"  His  astounded  chuckle  was  as  confusing  as 
all  the  rest  of  it.  Nannie,  standing  under  the  single 
flaring  jet  of  gas,  read  the  letter  again.  It  was,  at  any 
rate,  more  enlightening  than  Elizabeth's  to  her  uncle : 

"Dear  Nannie:  Don't  have  a  fit  when  I  tell  you  Eliza 
beth  and  I  are  married.  She  had  a  row  with  David, 
and  broke  her  engagement  with  him.  We  were  married 
this  afternoon.  I'm  afraid  mother  won't  like  it,  because, 
I  admit,  it's  rather  sudden.  But  really  it  is  the  easiest 
way  all  round,  especially  for — other  people.  It's  on 
the  principle  of  having  your  tooth  pulled  quick ! — if  you 
have  to  have  it  pulled,  instead  of  by  degrees.  I'll 
amount  to  something,  now,  and  that  will  please  mother. 
You  tell  her  that  I  will  amount  to  something  now!  I 
want  you  to  tell  her  about  it  before  I  write  to  her  myself 
— which,  of  course,  I  shall  do  to-morrow — because  it  will 
be  easier  for  her  to  have  it  come  from  you.  Tell  her 
marrying  Elizabeth  will  make  a  business  man  of  me. 
You  must  tell  her  as  soon  as  you  get  this,  because  prob 
ably  it  will  be  in  the  newspapers.  I  feel  like  a  cur, 
asking  you  to  break  it  to  her,  because,  of  course,  it's 
sort  of  difficult.  She  won't  like  it,  just  at  first;  she 
never  likes  anything  I  do.  But  it  will  be  easier  for  her 
to  hear  it  first  from  you.  Oh,  you  dear  old  Nancy! — 
I  am  nearly  out  of  my  head,  I'm  so  happy.  .  .  . 

"P,S,  We  are  going  off  for  a  month  or  so.  I'll  let 
you  know  where  to  address  us  when  I  know  myself." 

Nannie  dropped  down  into  a  chair,  and  tried  to  get 
her  wits  together.  If  Elizabeth  had  broken  with  David, 
why,  then,  of  course,  she  could  marry  Blair;  but  why 
should  she  marry  him  right  away?  "It  isn't — decent!" 
said  Nannie.  And  when  did  she  break  with  David? 
Only  day  before  yesterday  she  was  expecting  to  marry 
him.  "It  is  horrible!"  said  Nannie;  and  her  recoil  of 
disgust  for  a  moment  included  Blair,  But  the  habit  of 

234 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

love  made  her  instant  with  excuses:  "It's  worse  in 
Elizabeth  than  in  him.  Mamma  will  say  so,  too/' 
Then  she  felt  a  shock  of  terror:  " Mamma!"  She 
smoothed  out  the  letter,  crumpled  in  her  shaking  hand, 
and  read  it  again:  '"I  want  you  to  tell  her — '  Oh,  I 
can't!"  Nannie  said;  "  'it  will  be  easier  for  her  to  have  it 
come  from  you — '  And  what  about  me?"  she  thought, 
with  sudden,  unwonted  bitterness;  "it  won't  be  'easy' 
for  me." 

She  began  to  take  off  her  things;  then  realized  that 
she  was  shivering.  The  few  minutes  of  stirring  the  fire 
which  was  smoldering  under  a  great  lump  of  coal 
between  the  brass  jambs  of  the  grate,  gave  her  the 
momentary  relief  of  occupation ;  but  when  she  sat  down 
in  the  shifting  firelight,  and  held  her  trembling  hands 
toward  the  blaze,  the  shame  and  fright  came  back 
again.  "Poor  David!"  she  said;  but  even  as  she  said  it 
she  defended  her  brother;  "if  Elizabeth  had  broken 
with  him,  of  course  Blair  had  a  right  to  marry  her.  But 
how  could  Elizabeth!  I  can  never  forgive  her!"  Nannie 
thought,  wincing  with  disgust.  "To  be  engaged  to 
David  one  day,  and  marry  Blair  the  next! — Oh,  Blair 
ought  not  to  have  done  it,"  she  said,  involuntarily;  and 
hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  But  it  was  so  intolerable  to 
her  to  blame  him,  that  she  drove  her  mind  back  to  Eliza 
beth's  vulgarity;  she  could  bear  what  had  happened  if 
she  thought  of  Blair  as  a  victim  and  not  as  an  of 
fender. 

"I  can  never  feel  the  same  to  Elizabeth  again,"  she 
said.  Then  she  remembered  what  her  brother  had 
bidden  her  do,  and  quailed.  For  a  moment  she  was 
actually  sick  "with  panic.  Then  she,  too,  knew  the 
impulse  to  get  the  tooth  pulled  "quick."  She  got  up 
and  went  swiftly  across  the  hall  to  the  dining-room  It 
was  empty,  except  for  Harris,  who  was  moving  some 
papers  from  the  table  to  set  it  for  supper. 

"Oh,  Harris,"  she  said,  with  a  gasp  of  relief,  "she  isn't 
235 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

here!  Harris,  I  have  got  to  tell  her,  You  don't  think 
shell  mind  much,  do  you?" 

But  by  this  time  Harris's  chuckling  appreciation  of 
Mr.  Blair's  cleverness  in  getting  in  ahead  had  evapo 
rated.  "My,  my,  my,  Miss  Nannie!"  he  said,  his  weak 
blue  eyes  blinking  with  fright,  "  I  wouldn't  tell  her,  not 
if  you'd  gimme  the  Works!" 

"Harris,  if  you  were  in  my  place,  would  you  try  to, 
at  supper?" 

"Now,  Miss,  how  can  I  tell?  She'll  be  wild;  my,  my; 
wild!" 

"I  don't  see  why.  Mr.  Blair  had  a  right  to  get  mar 
ried." 

"He'd  ought  to  have  let  on  to  her  about  it,"  Harris 
said. 

For  a  few  minutes  Nannie  was  stricken  dumb.  Then 
she  sought  encouragement  again:  "Perhaps  if  you  had 
something  nice  for  supper,  she'd  be — pleased,  you 
know,  and  take  it  better?" 

"There's  to  be  cabbage.  Maybe  that  will  soften  her 
up.  She  likes  it;  gor,  how  she  likes  cabbage!"  said 
Harris,  almost  weeping. 

"Harris,  how  do  you  think  she'll  take  it?" 

"She  won't  take  it  well,"  the  old  man  said.  "Miss 
Elizabeth  was  Mr.  David's  girl.  When  I  come  to  think 
it  over,  I  don't  take  it  well  myself,  Miss  Nannie.  Nor 
you  don't,  neither.  No,  she  won't  take  it  well." 

"But  Miss  Elizabeth  had  broken  with  Mr.  David," 
Nannie  defended  her  brother;  "Mr.  Blair  had  a  right — " 
then  she  shivered.  "But  I've  got  to  tell  her!  Oh, 
Harris,  I  think  she  wouldn't  mind  so  much,  if  he  told 
her  himself?" 

Harris  considered.  "Yes,  Miss,  she  would.  Mr. 
Blair  don't  put  things  right  to  his  ma.  He'd  say  some.- 
thing  she  wouldn't  like.  He'd  say  something  about  some 
of  his  pretty  truck.  Them  things  always  make  her 
mad.  That  picture  he  bought — the  lady  nursin'  the 

236 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

baby,  in  your  parlor;  she  ain't  got  over  that  yet.  Oh, 
no,  she'll  take  it  better  from  you.  You  be  pretty  with 
her,  Miss  Nannie.  She  likes  it  when  you're  pretty  with 
her.  I  once  seen  a  chippy  sittin'  on  a  cowcatcher;  well, 
it  made  me  think  o'  you  and  her.  You  be  pretty  to  her, 
and  then  tell  her,  kind  of — of  easy,"  Harris  ended  weakly. 

Easy!  It  was  all  very  well  to  say  "easy"]  Harris 
might  as  well  say  knock  her  down  "easy."  At  that 
moment  the  back  door  banged. 

Mrs.  Maitland  burst  into  the  room  in  intense  pre 
occupation;  the  day  had  been  one  of  absorbing  interest, 
culminating  in  success,  and  she  was  alert  with  satis 
faction.  "Harris,  supper!  Nannie,  take  my  bonnet! 
Is  your  brother  to  be  here  to-night?  I've  something  to 
tell  him!  Where's  the  evening  paper?" 

Nannie,  breathless,  took  the  forlorn  old  bonnet,  and 
said,  "I — I  think  he  isn't  coming,  Mamma."  Harris 
came  running  with  the  newspaper;  they  exchanged  a 
frightened  glance,  although  the  mistress  of  the  house, 
with  one  hand  on  the  carving-knife,  was  already  saying, 
"Bless,  O  Lord— " 

At  supper  Mrs.  Maitland,  eating — as  the  grocer  said  so 
long  ago,  "like  a  day-laborer" — read  her  paper.  Nannie 
watching  her,  ate  nothing  at  all  and  said  nothing  at  all. 

When  the  coarse,  hurried  meal  was  at  an  end,  and 
Harris,  blinking  with  horrified  sympathy,  had  shut  him 
self  into  his  pantry,  Nannie  said,  faintly,  "Mamma,  I 
have  something  to  tell  you." 

"I  guess  it  will  keep,  my  dear,  I  guess  it  will  keep! 
I'm  too  busy  just  now  to  talk  to  you."  She  crumpled 
up  her  newspaper,  flung  it  on  the  floor,  and  plunged 
over  to  her  desk. 

Nannie  looked  helplessly  at  the  back  of  her  head,  then 
went  off  to  her  parlor.  She  sat  there  in  the  firelit  dark 
ness,  too  distracted  and  frightened  to  light  the  gas, 
planning  how  the  news  must  be  told.  At  eight  o'clock 
there  was  a  fluttering,  uncertain  ring  at  the  front  door, 

237 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

and  Cherry-pie  came  quivering  in:  had  Nannie  heard 
anything  more?  Did  she  know  where  they  were?  "I 
asked  her  uncle  to  come  down  here  and  see  if  Mrs.  Mait- 
land  had  heard  anything,  but — he  was  dreadful,  Nannie, 
dreadful!  He  caid  he  would  see  the  whole  family  in — I 
can't  repeat  where  he  said  he  would  see  them!"  She 
broke  down  and  cried;  then,  crouching  at  Nannie's  side, 
she  read  Blair's  letter  by  the  uncertain  light  of  the  fire. 
After  that,  except  for  occasional  whispered  ejaculations 
of  terror  and  pain,  they  were  silent,  sitting  close  together 
like  two  frightened  birds;  sometimes  a  lump  of  coal 
split  apart,  or  a  hissing  jet  of  gas  bubbled  and  flamed 
between  the  bars  of  the  grate,  and  then  their  two 
shadows  flickered  gigantic  on  the  wall  behind  them; 
but  except  for  that  the  room  was  very  still.  When  the 
older  woman  rose  to  go,  Nannie  clung  to  her: 

"Oh,  won't  you  tell  her?  Please— please!"  Poor 
old  Miss  White  could  only  shake  her  head : 

"I  can't,  my  dear,  I  can't!  It  would  not  be  fitting. 
Do  it  now,  my  dear;  do  it  immejetly,  and  get  it  over." 

When  Cherry-pie  had  wavered  back  into  the  night, 
Nannie  gathered  up  her  courage  to  "get  it  over."  She 
went  stealthily  across  the  hall;  but  at  the  dining-room 
door  she  stood  still,  her  hand  on  the  knob,  not  daring  to 
enter.  Strangely  enough,  in  the  midst  of  the  absorbing 
distress  of  the  moment,  some  trick  of  memory  made  her 
think  of  the  little  'f raid-cat,  standing  outside  that  door, 
trying  to  find  the  courage  to  open  it  and  get  for  Blair — 
for  whose  sake  she  stood  there  now — the  money  for  his 
journey  all  around  the  world!  In  spite  of  her  terror,  she 
smiled  faintly;  then  she  opened  the  door  and  looked  in. 
Mrs.  Maitland  was  still  at  work,  and  she  retreated  noise 
lessly.  At  eleven  she  tried  again. 

Except  for  the  single  gas-jet  under  a  green  shade  that 
hung  above  the  big  desk,  the  room  was  dark.  Mrs. 
Maitland  was  in  her  chair,  writing  rapidly;  she  did  not 
hear  Nannie's  hesitating  footstep,  or  know  that  she  was 

238 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

in  the  room,  until  the  girl  put  her  hand  on  the  arm  of 
her  chair. 

"Mamma." 

"Yes?" 

"Mamma,  I  have  something  to — to  tell  you." 

Mrs.  Maitland  signed  her  name,  put  her  pen  behind 
her  ear,  flung  a  blotter  down  on  the  heavily  written  page, 
and  rubbed  her  fist  over  it .  "  Well  ? ' '  she  said  cheerfully ; 
and  glanced  up  at  her  stepdaughter  over  her  steel-rimmed 
spectacles,  with  kind  eyes;  "what  are  you  awake  for,  at 
this  hour?"  Then  she  drew  out  a  fresh  sheet  of  paper, 
and  began  to  write:  "My  dear  Sir: — Yours  received,  and 
con — " 

"Mamma  .  .  .  Blair  is  married/' 

The  pen  made  a  quick,  very  slight  upward  movement ; 
there  was  a  spatter  of  ink;  then  the  powerful,  beautiful 
hand  went  on  evenly  " — tents  noted."  She  rubbed  the 
blotter  over  this  line,  put  the  pen  in  a  cup  of  shot,  and 
turned  around.  "What  did  you  say?" 

"I  said  .  .  .  Blair  is  married." 

Silence. 

"He  asked  me  to  tell  you.'5 

Silence. 

"  He  hopes  you  will  not  be  angry.  He  says  he  is  going 
to  be  a — a  tremendous  business  man,  now,  because  he  is 
so  happy." 

Silence.  Then,  in  a  loud  voice:  "How  long  has  this 
been  going  on?" 

"Oh,  Mamma,  not  any  time  at  all,  truly!  I  am 
perfectly  sure  it — it  was  on  the  spur  of  the  moment." 

"Married,  'on  the  spur  of  the  moment'  ?  Good  God!" 

"  I  only  mean  he  hasn't  been  planning  it.     He— 

"And  what  kind  of  woman  has  married  him,  'on  the 
spur  of  the  moment'?" 

"Oh,— Mamma  .  .  ." 

Her  voice  was  so  terrified  that  Mrs.  Maitland  sud 
denly  looked  at  her.  "Don't  be  frightened,  Nannie," 

10  239 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

she  said  kindly.  "What  is  it?  You  have  something 
more  to  tell  me,  I  can  see  that.  Come,  out  with  it!  Is 
she  bad?" 

"Oh,  Mamma!  don't!  don't!  It  is — she  is — Eliza 
beth—" 

Then  she  fled. 

That  night,  at  about  two  o'clock,  Mrs.  Maitland  en 
tered  her  stepdaughter's  room.  Nannie  was  dozing,  but 
started  up  in  her  bed,  her  heart  in  her  throat  at  the  sight 
of  the  gaunt  figure  standing  beside  her.  Blair's  mother 
had  a  candle  in  one  hand,  and  the  other  was  curved 
about  it  to  protect  the  bending  flame  from  the  draught 
of  the  open  door;  the  light  flickered  up  on  her  face,  and 
Nannie  was  conscious  of  how  deep  the  wrinkles  were  on 
her  forehead  and  about  her  mouth. 

"Nannie,  tell  me  everything." 

She  put  the  candle  on  the  table  at  the  head  of  the  bed, 
and  sat  down,  leaning  forward  a  little,  as  if  a  weight 
were  resting  on  her  shoulders.  Her  clasped  hands,  hang 
ing  loosely  between  her  knees,  seemed,  in  the  faint  light 
of  the  small,  pointed  flame,  curiously  shrunken  and 
withered.  "Tell  me,"  she  said  heavily. 

Nannie  told  her  all  she  knew.     It  was  little  enough. 

"How  do  you  know  that  Elizabeth  had  broken  with 
David  Richie?"  her  stepmother  said.  Nannie  silently 
handed  her  Blair's  letter.  Mrs.  Maitland  took  up  her 
candle,  and  holding  it  close  to  the  flimsy  sheet,  read  her 
son's  statement.  Then  she  handed  it  back.  "I  see; 
some  sort  of  a  squabble;  and  Blair —  She  stopped, 
almost  with  a  groan.  "His  friend"  she  said,  and  her 
chin  shook;  "your  father's  son!"  she  said  brokenly. 

"Mamma!"  Nannie  protested — she  was  sitting  up  in 
bed,  her  hair  in  its  two  braids  falling  over  her  white  night 
dress,  her  eyes,  so  girlish,  so  trightened,  fixed  on  that 
quivering  iron  face;  "Mamma!  remember,  he  was  in 
love  with  Elizabeth  long  ago,  before  David  ever  thought — ' ' 

240 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"In  love  with  Elizabeth?  He  was  never  in  love  with 
anybody  but  himself." 

"Oh,  Mamma,  please  forgive  him!  It's  done  now, 
and  it  can't  be  undone." 

"What  has  my  forgiveness  got  to  do  with  it?  It's 
done,  as  you  say.  It  can't  be  undone.  Nothing  can  be 
undone.  Nothing;  nothing.  All  the  years  that  remain 
cannot  undo  the  years  that  I  have  been  building  this 
up." 

Nannie  stared  at  her  blankly.  And  suddenly  the  hard 
face  softened.  "Lie  down.  Go  to  sleep."  She  put 
her  big  roughened  hand  gently  on  the  girl's  head.  "Go 
to  sleep,  my  child."  She  took  up  her  candle,  and  a 
moment  later  Nannie  heard  the  stairs  creak  under  her 
heavy  tread. 

Sarah  Maitland  did  not  sleep  that  night;  but  after  the 
first  outburst,  when  Nannie  had  panted  out,  "It  is — 
Elizabeth,"  and  then  fled,  there  had  been,  no  anger. 
When  the  door  closed  behind  her  stepdaughter,  Blair's 
mother  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes  and  sat  perfectly  still 
at  her  desk.  Blair  was  married.  And  he  had  not  told 
her, — that  was  the  first  thought.  Then,  into  the  piti 
ful,  personal  dismay  of  mortification  and  wounded  love, 
came  the  sword-thrust  of  a  second  thought:  he  had 
stolen  his  friend's  wife. 

It  was  not  a  moment  for  nice  discriminations;  the 
fact  that  Elizabeth  had  not  been  married  to  David 
seemed  immaterial.  This  was  because,  to  Sarah  Mait- 
land's  generation,  the  word,  in  this  matter  of  getting 
married,  was  so  nearly  as  good  as  the  bond,  that  a  broken 
engagement  was  always  a  solemn,  and  generally  a  dis 
graceful  thing.  So,  when  she  said  that  Blair  had 
"stolen  David's  wife,"  she  cringed  with  shame.  What 
would  his  father  say  to  such  conduct !  In  what  had  she 
been  wanting  that  Herbert's  son  could  disgrace  his 
father's  name — and  hate  his  mother?  For  of  course  he 

241 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

must  hate  her  to  shut  her  out  of  his  life,  and  not  tell  her 
he  was  going  to  get  married!  Her  mind  seemed  to 
oscillate  between  the  abstraction  of  his  dishonor  and 
a  more  intimate  and  primitive  pain, — the  sense  of  per 
sonal  slight.  "Oh,  my  son,  my  son,  my  son,"  she 
said.  She  was  bending  over,  her  elbows  on  her  knees,  her 
furrowed  forehead  resting  on  her  clenched  hands;  her 
whole  big  body  quivered.  He  had  shut  her  out.  .  .  . 
He  hated  her.  .  .  .  He  had  never  loved  her.  .  .  .  "My 
son!  my  son!"  Then  a  sharp  return  of  memory  to  the 
shame  of  his  conduct  whipped  her  to  her  feet  and  set  her 
walking  about  the  room.  It  was  long  after  midnight 
before  she  said  to  herself  that  the  first  thing  to  do  was 
to  learn  exactly  what  had  happened.  Nannie  must  tell 
her.  It  was  then  that  she  went  up  to  her  stepdaughter's 
room. 

When  Nannie  had  told  her,  or  rather  when  Blair's 
letter  had  made  the  thing  shamefully  clear,  she  went 
down-stairs  and  faced  the  situation.  Who  was  re 
sponsible  for  it?  Who  was  to  blame — before  she  could 
add,  in  her  mind,  "Elizabeth  or  Blair?"  some  trick  of 
memory  finished  her  question:  who  was  to  blame — "this 
man  or  his  parents?"  The  suggestion  of  personal  re 
sponsibility  was  like  a  blow  in  the  face.  She  flinched 
under  it,  and  sat  down  abruptly,  breathing  hard.  How 
could  it  be  possible  that  she  was  to  blame?  What  had 
she  left  undone  that  other  mothers  did  ?  She  had  loved 
him;  no  mother  could  have  loved  him  more  than  she 
did! — and  he  had  never  cared  for  her  love.  In  what 
had  she  been  lacking  ?  He  had  had  a  religious  bringing 
up;  she  had  begun  to  take  him  to  church  when  he  was 
four  years  old.  He  had  had  every  educational  oppor 
tunity.  All  that  he  wanted  he  had  had.  She  had  never 
stinted  him  in  anything.  Could  any  mother  have  done 
more?  Could  Herbert  himself  have  done  more?  No; 
she  could  not  reproach  herself  for  lack  of  love.  She  had 
loved  him,  so  that  she  had  spared  him  everything — even 

242 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

desire!  All  that  he  could  want  was  his  before  he  could 
ask  for  it. 

In  the  midst  of  this  angry  justifying  of  herself,  tramp 
ing  up  and  down  the  long  room,  she  stopped  suddenly 
and  looked  about  her;  where  was  her  knitting?  Her 
thoughts  were  in  such  a  distracted  tangle  that  the  accus 
tomed  automatic  movement  of  her  fingers  was  impera 
tive.  She  tucked  the  grimy  pink  ball  of  zephyr  under 
her  arm,  and  tightening  her  fingers  on  the  bent  and 
yellowing  old  needles,  began  again  her  fierce  pacing  up 
and  down,  up  and  down.  But  the  room  seemed  to 
cramp  her,  and  by  and  by  she  went  across  the  hall  into 
Nannie's  parlor,  where  the  fire  had  sprung  into  cheerful 
flames;  here  she  paused  for  a  while,  standing  with  one 
foot  on  the  fender,  knitting  rapidly,  her  unseeing  eyes 
fixed  on  the  needles.  Yes;  Blair  had  had  no  cares,  no 
responsibilities, — and  as  for  money!  With  a  wave  of 
resentment,  she  thought  that  she  would  find  out  in  the 
morning  from  her  bookkeeper  just  how  much  money 
she  had  given  him  since  he  was  twenty-one.  It  was  then 
that  a  bleak  consciousness,  like  the  dull  light  of  a  winter 
dawn,  slowly  began  to  take  possession  of  her:  money. 
She  had  given  him  money ;  but  what  else  had  she  given 
him  ?  Not  companionship ;  she  had  never  had  the  time 
for  that;  besides,  he  would  not  have  wanted  it;  she 
knew,  inarticulately,  that  he  and  she  had  never  spoken 
the  same  language.  Not  sympathy  in  his  endless  futili 
ties;  what  intelligent  person  could  sympathize  with  a 
man  who  found  serious  occupation  in  buying — well, 
china  beetles  ?  Or  pictures !  She  glanced  angrily  over  at 
that  piece  of  blackened  canvas  by  the  door,  its  gold  frame 
glimmering  faintly  in  the  firelight.  He  had  spent  five 
thousand  dollars  on  a  picture  that  you  could  cover  with 
your  two  hands!  Yes;  she  had  given  him  money; 
but  that  was  all  she  had  given  him.  Money  was  ap 
parently  the  only  thing  they  had  in  common. 

Then  came  another  surge  of  resentment, — that  piti- 
243 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ful  resentment  of  the  wounded  heart;  Blair  had  never 
cared  how  hard  she  worked  to  make  money  for  him! 
It  occurred  to  her,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life,  that  she  worked  very  hard;  she  said  to  herself  that 
sometimes  she  was  tired.  Yes,  she  had  never  thought  of 
it  before,  but  she  was  sometimes  very  tired.  But  what 
did  Blair  care  for  that  ?  What  did  he  care  how  hard  she 
worked  ?  Even  as  she  said  it,  with  that  anger  which  is  a 
confession  of  something  deeper  than  anger,  her  mind  re 
torted  that  if  he  had  never  cared  how  hard  she  worked 
for  their  money,  she  had  never  cared  how  easily  he  spent 
it.  She  had  been  irritated  by  his  way  of  spending  it,  and 
she  had  been  contemptuous;  but  she  had  never  really 
cared.  So  it  appeared  that  they  did  not  have  even 
money  in  common.  The  earning  had  been  all  hers;  the 
spending  had  been  all  his.  If  she  had  liked  to  buy  gim- 
cracks,  they  would  have  had  that  in  common,  and  per 
haps  he  would  have  been  fond  of  her?  "But  I  never 
knew  how  to  be  a  fool,"  she  thought,  simply.  Yes;  she 
didn't  know  how  to  spend,  she  only  knew  how  to  earn. 
Of  course,  if  he  had  had  to  earn  what  he  spent,  they 
would  have  had  work  as  a  bond  of  sympathy.  Work! 
Blair  had  never  understood  that  work  was  the  finest 
thing  in  the  world.  She  wondered  why  he  had  not 
understood  it,  when  she  herself  had  worked  so  hard — 
worked,  in  fact,  so  that  he  might  be  beyond  the  need  of 
working.  As  she  said  that,  her  fingers  were  suddenly 
rigid  on  her  needles;  it  seemed  as  if  her  soul  had  felt 
a  jolt  of  dismay;  why  didn't  her  son  understand  the  joy 
of  work  ?  Because  she  had  spared  him  all  necessity  for 
it ! — for  the  work  she  had  given  him  to  do  was  not  real, 
and  they  both  knew  it.  Spared  him?  Robbed  him! 
"Who  hath  sinned,  this  man  or  his  parents?"  "This 
man,"  her  selfish,  indolent,  dishonorable  son,  or  she  her 
self,  whose  hurry  to  possess  the  one  thing  she  wanted, 
that  finest  thing  in  the  world,  Work! — had  pushed  him 
into  the  road  of  pleasant,  shameful  idleness,  the  road 

244 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

that  always  leads  to  dishonor  ?  Good  God !  what  a  fool 
she  had  been  not  to  make  him  work. 

Sarah  Maitland,  tramping  back  and  forth,  the  ball  of 
pink  worsted  dragging  behind  her  in  a  grimy  tangle, 
thought  these  things  with  a  sledge-hammer  directness 
that  spared  herself  nothing.  She  wanted  the  truth,  no 
matter  how  it  made  her  cringe  to  find  it!  She  would 
hammer  out  her  very  heart  to  find  the  truth.  And 
the  truth  she  found  was  that  she  had  never  allowed 
Blair  to  meet  the  negations  of  life — to  meet  those  No's, 
which  teach  the  eternal  affirmations  of  character.  He 
had  had  everything;  he  had  done  nothing.  The  result 
was  as  inevitable  as  the  action  of  a  law  of  nature!  In 
the  illuminating  misery  of  this  terrible  night,  she  saw 
that  she  had  given  her  son,  as  Robert  Ferguson  had  said 
to  her  once,  "fullness  of  bread  and  abundance  of  idle 
ness."  And  now  she  was  learning  what  bread  and  idle 
ness  together  must  always  make  of  a  man. 

Walking  up  and  down  the  dimly  lighted  room,  she  had 
a  vision  of  her  sin  that  made  her  groan.  She  had  made 
Blair  what  he  was:  because  it  had  been  easy  for  her  to 
make  things  easy  for  him,  she  had  given  him  his  heart's 
desire,  and  brought  leanness  withal  to  his  soul.  In  satisfy 
ing  her  own  hunger  for  work,  she  had  forgotten  to  give  it 
to  him,  and  he  had  starved  for  it !  She  had  left,  by  this 
time,  far  behind  her  the  personal  affront  to  her  of  his 
reserves ;  she  took  meekly  the  knowledge  that  he  did  not 
love  her:  she  even  thought  of  his  marriage  as  unimpor 
tant,  or  as  important  only  because  it  was  a  symptom  of  a 
condition  for  which  she  was  responsible.  And  having 
once  realized  and  accepted  this  fact,  there  was  only  one 
solemn  question  in  her  mind: 

"What  am  I  going  to  do  about  it  ?" 

For  she  believed,  as  other  parents  have  believed  before 
her — and  probably  will  go  on  believing  as  long  as  there 
are  parents  and  sons — she  believed  that  she  could,  in 
some  way  or  other,  by  the  very  strength  of  her  agonizing 

245 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

love,  force  into  her  son's  soul  from  the  outside  that 
Kingdom  of  God  which  must  be  within.  "Oh,  what 
am  I  going  to  do?"  she  said  to  herself. 

She  stood  still  and  covered  her  face  with  her  hands. 
"God,"  she  said,  "don't  punish  him!  It's  my  fault; 
punish  me." 

Perhaps  she  had  never  really  prayed  before. 


CHAPTER  XX 

ROBERT  FERGUSON,  in  his  library,  and  poor  Miss 
White  in  the  hall,  listened  with  tense  nerves  for  the 
wheels  of  the  carriage  that  was  to  bring  David  Richie 
"to  breakfast." 

"Send  him  in  to  me,"  Mr.  Ferguson  had  said;  and 
then  had  shut  himself  into  his  library. 

Miss  White  was  quivering  with  terror  when  at  last  she 
heard  the  carriage  door  bang.  David  came  leaping  up 
the  steps,  his  face  rosy  as  a  girl's  in  the  raw  morning 
air — it  was  a  lowering  Mercer  morning,  with  the  street 
lamps  burning  at  eight  o'clock  in  a  murk  of  smoke  and 
fog.  He  raked  the  windows  with  a  smiling  glance,  and 
then  stood,  laughing  for  sheer  happiness,  waiting  for  her 
to  open  the  door  to  him. 

David  had  had  a  change  of  spirit,  if  not  of  mind,  since 
he  wrote  his  eminently  sensible  letter  to  Elizabeth.  He 
had  been  able  to  scrape  up  enough  money  of  his  own  to 
pay  at  least  one  of  his  bills,  and  things  had  gone  better 
with  him  at  the  hospital,  so  he  no  longer  felt  the  unrea 
sonable  humiliation  which  Elizabeth's  proposal  had 
accentuated  in  him.  The  reproach  which  his  mood  had 
read  into  her  letter  had  vanished  after  a  good  night's 
sleep  and  a  good  day's  work;  now,  it  seemed  to  him 
only  an  exquisite  expression  of  most  lovely  love,  which 
brought  the  color  into  his  face,  and  made  his  lips  burn 
at  the  thought  of  her  lips!  Of  course  her  idea  of  marry 
ing  on  her  little  money  was  not  to  be  thought  of — he  and 
Mr.  Ferguson  would  laugh  over  it  together;  but  what 
an  angel  she  was  to  think  of  it!  All  that  night,  in  the 

247 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

journey  over  the  mountains,  he  had  lain  in  his  berth 
and  looked  out  at  the  stars,  cursing  himself  joyously  for 
a  dumb  fool  who  had  had  no  words  to  tell  her  how  he 
loved  her  for  that  sweet,  divinely  foolish  proposal,  which 
was  "not  to  be  thought  of"!  "But  when  I  see  her,  I'll 
make  her  understand;  when  I  hold  her  in  my  arms — " 
he  told  himself,  with  all  the  passion  of  twenty-six  years 
which  had  no  easy  outlet  of  speech. 

When  Robert  Ferguson's  door  opened,  his  heart  was 
on  his  lips.  "Eliz — •"  he  began,  and  stopped  short. 
"Oh,  Miss  White.  Good  morning,  Miss  White!"  And 
before  poor  Cherry-pie  knew  it,  he  had  given  her  a  great 
hug;  "Where  is  Elizabeth?  Not  out  of  bed  yet?  Oh, 
the  lazybones!"  He  was  so  eager  that,  until  he  was 
fairly  in  the  hall,  with  the  front  door  shut,  and  his  over 
coat  almost  off,  he  did  not  notice  her  silence.  Then  he 
gave  her  a  startled  look.  "Miss  White!  is  anything  the 
matter?  Is  Elizabeth  ill?" 

-'No;  oh,  no,"  she  said  breathlessly;  "but — Mr. 
Ferguson  will  tell  you.  No,  she  is  not  sick.  Go,  he 
will  tell  you.  In  the  library ." 

The  color  dropped  out  of  his  face  as  a  flag  drops  to 
half-mast.  "  She  is  dead,"  he  said,  with  absolute  finality 
in  his  voice.  "When  did  she  die?"  He  stood  staring 
straight  ahead  of  him  at  the  wall,  ghastly  with  fright. 

"No!  no!  She  is  not  dead;  she  is  well.  Quite  well; 
oh,  very  well.  Go,  David,  my  dear  boy — oh,  my  dear 
boy!  Go  to  Mr.  Ferguson.  He  will  tell  you.  But  it  is 
— terrible,  David." 

He  went,  dazed,  and  saying,  "Why,  but  what  is  it? 
If  she  is  not — not — " 

Robert  Ferguson  met  him  on  the  threshold  of  the 
library,  drew  him  in,  closed  the  door,  and  looked  him  full 
in  the  face.  "No,  she  isn't  dead,"  he  said;  "I  wish  to 
God  she  were."  Then  he  struck  him  hard  on  the  shoul 
der.  "David,"  he  said  harshly,  "be  a  man;  they've 
played  a  damned  dirty  trick  on  you.  Yesterday  she 

248 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

married  Blair  Maitland.  .  .  .  Take  it  like  a  man,  and  be 
thankful  you  are  rid  of  her."  He  wheeled  about  and 
stood  with  his  back  to  his  niece's  lover.  He  had  guided 
the  inevitable  sword,  but  he  could  not  witness  the  agony 
of  the  wound.  There  was  complete  stillness  in  the 
room;  the  ticking  of  the  clock  suddenly  hammered  in 
Robert  Ferguson's  ears;  a  cinder  fell  softly  from  the 
grate.  Then  he  heard  a  long-drawn  breath : 

"Tell  me,  if  you  please,  exactly  what  has  happened." 

Elizabeth's  uncle,  still  with  his  back  turned,  told  him 
what  little  he  knew.  "I  don't  know  where  they  are," 
he  ended;  "  I  don't  want  to  know.  The  scoundrel  wrote 
to  Nannie,  but  he  gave  no  address.  Elizabeth's  letter 
to  me  is  on  my  table;  read  it." 

He  heard  David  move  over  to  the  library  table;  he 
heard  the  rustle  oi  the  sheet  of  paper  as  it  was  drawn  out 
of  the  envelope.  Then  silence  again,  and  the  clamor  of 
the  clock.  He  turned  round,  in  time  to  see  David  stagger 
slightly  and  drop  into  a  chair;  perspiration  had  burst 
out  on  his  forehead.  He  was  so  white  around  his  lips 
that  Robert  Ferguson  knew  that  for  a  moment  his  body 
shared  the  awful  astonishment  of  his  soul.  "There's 
some  whiskey  over  there,"  he  said,  nodding  toward  a 
side  table.  David  shook  his  head.  Then,  still  shudder 
ing  with  that  dreadful  sickness,  he  spoke. 

"She  .  .  .  has  married — Blair?  Blair?"  he  repeated, 
uncomprehendingly.  He  put  his  hand  up  to  his  head 
with  that  strange,  cosmic  gesture  which  horrified  human 
ity  has  made  ever  since  it  was  capable  of  feeling  horror. 

"Yes,"  Mr.  Ferguson  said  grimly;  "yes,  Blair — your 
friend!  Well,  you  are  not  the  first  man  who  has  had  a 
sweetheart — and  a  ' friend.'  A  wife,  even — and  a  '  friend.' 
And  then  discovered  that  he  had  neither  wife  nor  friend. 
Damn  him." 

"Damn  him?"  said  David,  and  burst  into  a  scream  of 
laughter.  He  was  on  his  feet  now,  but  he  rocked  a  little 
on  his  shaking  legs.  "Damnation  is  too  good  for  him; 

249 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

may  God — "    In  the  outburst  of  fury  that  followed,  even 
Robert  Ferguson  quailed  and  put  up  a  protesting  hand. 

"David — David,"  he  stammered,  actually  recoiling 
before  that  storm  of  words.  "David,  he  will  get  what 
he  deserves.  She  was  worthless!" 

David  stopped  short.  At  the  mention  of  Elizabeth, 
his  hurricane  of  rage  dropped  suddenly  into  the  flat 
calm  of  absolute  bewilderment.  "Do  not  speak  of 
Elizabeth  in  that  way,  in  my  presence,"  he  said,  panting. 

"She  is  her  mother's  daughter!  She  is  bad,  through 
and  through.  She — " 

"Stop!"  David  cried,  violently;  "what  in  hell  do  you 
keep  on  saying  that  for?  I  will  not  listen — I  will  not 
hear."  ...  He  was  beside  himself;  he  did  not  know 
what  he  said. 

But  Robert  Ferguson  was  silenced.  When  David 
spoke  again,  it  was  in  gasps,  and  his  words  came  thickly 
as  if  his  tongue  were  numb:  "What — what  are  we  to 
do?" 

"Do?     There  is  nothing  to  do,  that  I  can  see." 

"She  must  be  taken  away  from  him!" 

"Nobody  knows  where  they  are.  But  if  I  did  know, 
I  wouldn't  lift  my  hand  to  get  her  away.  She  has  made 
her  bed — she  can  lie  in  it,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned." 

"But  she  didn't!"  David  groaned;  "you  don't  under 
stand.  I  am  the  one  to  curse,  not  Elizabeth." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?" 

"I  did  it." 

The  older  man  looked  at  him  with  almost  contemptu 
ous  incredulity.  "My  dear  fellow,  what  is  the  use  of 
denying  facts  ?  You  can't  make  black  white,  can  you  ? 
Day  before  yesterday  you  loved  this — this,"  he  seemed 
to  search  for  some  epithet;  glanced  at  David,  and  said, 
almost  meekly:  "girl.  Day  before  yesterday  she  ex 
pected  to  marry  you.  To-day  she  is  the  wife  of  another 
man.  Have  you  committed  any  crime  in  the  last  three 
days  which  justifies  that?" 

250 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Yes,"  David  said,  in  a  smothered  voice,  "I  have." 
Then  he  handed  back  to  the  shamed  and  angry  man  the 
poor,  pitiful  little  letter.  "Don't  you  see?  She  says, 
'David  didn't  want'" — he  broke  off,  unable  to  speak. 
A  moment  later  he  added,  "  'E.  F.'  She  isn't  used  to  the 
— the  other,  yet,"  he  said,  again  with  that  bewildered 
look. 

But  Elizabeth's  uncle  was  too  absorbed  in  his  own 
humiliation  to  see  confession  in  that  tragic  initial.  "  What 
is  that  nonsense  about  your  not  wanting  her?" 
"She  thought  so.  She  had  reason  to  think  so." 
"You  had  better  explain  yourself,  David." 
"She  wrote  to  me,"  David  said,  after  a  pause;  "she 
told  me  she  would  have  that  money  of  hers  on  her  birth 
day.  She  said  we  could  be  married  then."  He  red 
dened  to  his  temples.  "She  asked  me  to  marry  her 
that  day;  asked  me,  you  understand."  He  turned  on 
his  heel  and  went  over  to  the  window;  he  stood  there  for 
some  minutes  with  his  back  to  Robert  Ferguson.  The 
green  door  in  the  wall  between  the  two  gardens  was 
swinging  back  and  forth  on  sagging  hinges;  David 
watched  it  with  unseeing  eyes ;  suddenly  a  sooty  pigeon 
came  circling  down  and  lit  just  inside  the  old  arbor, 
which  was  choked  with  snow  shovelled  from  the  flag 
stones  of  the  path.  Who  can  say  why,  watching  the 
pigeon's  teetering  walk  on  the  soot-specked  snow,  David 
should  smell  the  fragrance  of  heliotrope  hot  in  the  sun 
shine,  and  see  Elizabeth  drawing  Blair's  ring  from  her 
soft  young  bosom  ?  He  turned  back  to  her  uncle,  with 
a  rigid  face:  "Well,  I — /  said — 'no'  to  her  letter.  Do 
you  understand?  I  told  her  'no.'  'No*  to  a  girl  like 
Elizabeth!  Because,  in  my — my  filthy  pride — "  he 
paused,  picked  up  a  book,  turned  it  over  and  over,  and 
then  put  it  straight  edge  to  edge  with  the  table.  His 
hand  was  trembling  violently.  When  he  could  speak 
again  it  was  in  a  whisper.  "My  cursed  pride.  I  didn't 
want  to  marry  until  I  could  do  everything.  I  wasn't 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

willing  to  be  under  obligations;  I  told  her  so.  I  said — 
'no.'  It  made  her  angry.  It  would  make  any  girl 
angry, — but  Elizabeth!  Why,  she  used  to  bite  herself 
when  she  was  angry.  When  she  is  angry,  she  will  do 
— anything.  She  has  done  it.  My  God!" 

Robert  Ferguson  could  not  look  at  him.  He  made  a 
pretense  of  taking  up  some  papers  from  his  desk,  and 
somehow  or  other  got  himself  out  of  the  room.  He 
found  Miss  White  in  the  hall,  clasping  and  unclasping 
her  little  thin  old  hands. 

"How  did  he — ?"  she  tried  to  say,  but  her  poor  nib 
bling  lip  could  not  finish  the  question. 

"How  does  a  man  usually  take  a  stab  in  the  back?" 
he  flung  at  her.  "Don't  be  a — "  He  stopped  short. 
"I  beg  your  pardon,  Miss  White."  But  she  was  too 
heartbroken  to  resent  the  rudeness  of  his  suffering. 

After  that  they  stood  there  waiting,  without  speaking 
to  each  other.  Once  Mr.  Ferguson  made  as  if  he  would 
go  back  to  the  library,  but  stopped  with  his  hand  on  the 
door-knob ;  once  Miss  White  said  brokenly,  "  The  boy  must 
have  some  breakfast";  but  still  they  left  him  to  himself. 

After  a  while,  Cherry-pie  sat  down  on  the  stairs  and 
cried  softly.  Robert  Ferguson  walked  about;  now  out 
to  the  front  door,  with  a  feint  of  looking  at  the  ther 
mometer  in  the  vestibule;  now  the  length  of  the  hall, 
into  which  the  fog  had  crept  until  the  gas  burned  in  a 
hazy  ring;  now  into  the  parlor — from  which  he  instantly 
fled  as  if  a  serpent  had  stung  him;  her  little  basket  of 
embroidery,  overflowing  with  its  pretty  foolishness, 
stood  on  the  table. 

When  David  Richie  opened  the  library  door  and  came 
into  the  hall  he  was  outwardly  far  steadier  than  they. 
"I  think  I'll  go  to  the  depot  now,  sir.  No,  thank  you, 
Miss  White;  I'll  get  something  to  eat  there," 

"Oh,  but  my  dear  boy,"  she  said,  trying  to  swallow 
her  tears,  "now  do — now  don't — I  can  have  your  break 
fast  ready  immejetly,  and — " 

252 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Let  him  alone,"  Mr.  Ferguson  caid;  "he'll  eat  when 
he  feels  like  it.  David,  must  you  go  back  this  morning? 
I  wish  you'd  stay." 

"I  have  to  go  back,  thank  you,  sir." 

"You  may  find  a  letter  from  her  at  home;  she  didn't 
know  you  were  to  be  here  to-day." 

"I  may,"  David  said;  and  some  dull  note  in  his  voice 
told  Robert  Ferguson  that  the  young  man's  youth  was 
over. 

"My  boy,"  he  said,  "forget  her!  You  are  well  rid 
of — "  he  stopped  short,  with  an  apprehensive  glance; 
but  David  made  no  protest;  apparently  he  was  not 
listening. 

"I  shall  take  the  express,"  he  said;  "I  must  see  my 
mother,  before  I  go  to  the  hospital  to-night.  She  must 
be  told.  She  will  be — sorry." 

"Your  mother!"  said  Robert  Ferguson.  "Well, 
David,  thank  God  you  have  loved  one  woman  who  is 
good!" 

"I  have  loved  two  women  who  are  good,"  David  said. 
He  turned  and  took  Miss  White's  poor  old,  shaking  hands 
in  his.  "  When  she  conies  back — " 

"Comes  back?"  the  older  man  cried  out,  furiously; 
"she  shall  never  come  back  to  this  house!" 

David  did  not  notice  him :  "Miss  White,  listen.  When 
you  see  her,  tell  her  I  understand.  Just  tell  her,  'David 
says,  " I  understand. "  And  Miss  White,  say:  'He  says, 
try  to  forgive  him.' " 

She  sobbed  so,  that  instinctively,  but  without  tender 
ness,  he  put  his  arm  about  her;  his  face  was  dull  to  the 
point  of  indifference.  "Don't  cry,  Miss  White.  And 
be  good  to  her;  but  I  know  you  will  be  good  to  her!" 
He  picked  up  his  hat,  put  his  coat  over  his  arm,  and 
stretched  out  his  hand  to  Robert  Ferguson  with  a  steady 
smile.  "Good-by,  sir."  Then  the  smile  dropped  and 
left  the  amazed  and  naked  face  quivering  before  their 
eyes.  Through  the  wave  of  merciful  numbness  which 

253 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

had  given  him  his  hard  composure,  agony  stabbed  him. 
"For  God's  sake,  don't  be  hard  on  her.  She  has  enough 
to  bear!  And  blame  me — me.  I  did  it — " 

He  turned  and  fled  out  of  the  house,  and  the  two 
unhappy  people  who  loved  Elizabeth  looked  at  each 
other  speechlessly. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

EXCEPT  in  his  gust  of  primitive  fury  when  he  first 
knew  that  he  had  been  robbed,  and  in  that  last  breaking 
down  in  the  hall,  David  knew  what  had  happened  to 
him  only,  if  one  may  say  so,  with  the  outside  of  his  mind. 
Even  while  he  was  talking  with  comparative  calmness  to 
Mr.  Rferguson,  his  thoughts  were  whirling,  and  veering, 
in  dizzying  circles — bewildered  rage,  pity,  fright,  revolt, 
— and  then  back  again  to  half-dazed  fury.  But  each 
time  he  tried  to  realize  exactly  what  had  happened, 
something  in  him  seemed  to  swerve,  like  a  shying  horse; 
he  could  not  get  near  enough  to  the  fact,  to  understand  it. 
In  a  numb  way  he  must  have  recognized  this,  because  in 
those  moments  by  himself  in  the  library  he  deliberately 
shut  a  door  upon  the  blasting  truth.  Later,  of  course,  he 
would  have  -to  open  it  and  look  in  upon  the  ruin  of  his 
life.  Somewhere  back  in  his  thoughts  he  was  aware 
that  this  moment  of  opening  the  Door  would  come,  and 
come  soon.  But  while  he  talked  to  Robert  Ferguson, 
and  tried,  dully,  to  comfort  Miss  White,  and  even  as  he 
went  down  the  steps  up  which  he  had  bounded  not  an 
hour  before,  he  was  holding  that  moment  off.  His  one 
clear  feeling  was  a  desire  to  be  by  himself.  Then,  he 
promised  himself,  when  he  was  alone,  he  would  open  the 
Door,  and  face  the  Thing  that  lay  behind  it.  But  as  he 
walked  along  the  street,  the  Door  was  closed,  bolted, 
locked,  and  his  back  was  against  it. 

"Elizabeth  has  married  Blair,"  he  said  to  himself, 
softly.  The  words  seemed  to  have  no  meaning.  "Eliza 
beth  has  married  Blair,"  he  insisted  again;  but  was  only 

17  255 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

cognizant  that  the  blur  of  fog  around  a  street-lamp 
showed  rainbow  lines  in  a  wonderful  pattern.  "They  are 
all  at  right  angles,"  he  said;  "that's  interesting,"  and 
looked  ahead  to  see  if  the  next  light  repeated  the  phe 
nomenon.  Then  automatically  he  took  out  his  watch: 
"Nine-thirty.  Elizabeth  has  married  Blair.  The  train 
leaves  at  ten.  I  had  better  be  going  to  the  depot. 
Elizabeth  has  married  Blair  "  And  he  walked  on,  look 
ing  at  the  lamps  burning  in  the  fog.  Then  suddenly,  as 
if  the  closed  Door  showed  a  crack  of  light,  he  decided  that 
he  would  not  go  back  on  the  express;  an  inarticulate 
impulse  pierced  him  to  the  quick, — the  impulse  to 
resist,  to  fight,  to  save  himself  and  her!  But  almost 
with  the  rending  pang,  the  Door  slammed  to  again  and 
the  impulse  blurred — like  the  street-lamps.  Still,  the 
impetus  of  it  was  sufficient  to  keep  him  from  turning 
toward  the  railroad  station. 

"Hello!"  some  one  said;  Harry  Knight  was  standing, 
grinning,  directly  in  front  of  him;  "you  needn't  run 
down  a  friend  of  your  youth,  even  if  you  don't  conde 
scend  to  live  in  Mercer  any  more!" 

"Oh,  hello,"  David  heard  himself  say. 

"When  did  you  come  to  town?  I'd  ask  you  to  lunch 
with  me,  but  I  suppose  your  lady-love  would  object. 
Wait  till  you  get  to  be  an  old  married  man  like  me ;  then 
she'll  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  you!" 

David  knew  that  he  gave  the  expected  laugh,  and 
that  he  said  it  was  a  foggy  day,  and  Philadelphia  had 
a  better  climate  than  Mercer;  ("he  hasn't  heard  it  yet," 
he  was  saying  to  himself)  "yes,  dark  old  hole;  I'm  going 
back  to-night.  Yes;  awfully  sorry  I  can't — good-by — 
good-by.  (He'll  know  by  to-night.")  He  did  not  notice 
when  Knight  seemed  to  melt  into  the  mist;  nor  was  he 
conscious  that  he  had  begun  to  walk  again — on,  and 
on,  and  on.  Suddenly  he  paused  before  the  entrance 
of  a  saloon,  which  bore,  above  "XXX  Pale  Ale,"  in 
gilt  letters  on  the  window,  the  sign  "Landis'  Hotel." 

256 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

He  was  aware  of  overpowering  fatigue.  Why  not  go  in 
here  and  sit  down  ?  He  would  not  meet  any  one  he  knew 
in  such  a  place.  "  Better  take  a  room  for  an  hour  or  two," 
he  thought.  He  knew  that  he  must  be  alone  to  open 
that  Door,  but  he  did  not  say  so;  instead  his  mind, 
repeating,  parrot-like,  "Elizabeth  has  married  Blair," 
made  its  arrangements  for  privacy,  as  steadily  as  a  sur 
geon  might  make  arrangements  for  a  mortal  opera 
tion. 

As  he  entered  the  hotel,  a  woman  on  her  hands  and 
knees,  slopping  a  wet  cloth  over  the  black  and  white 
marble  floor  of  the  office,  looked  up  at  him,  and  moved 
her  bucket  of  dirty  water  to  let  him  pass.  "  Huh !  He's 
got  a  head  on  him  this  morning,"  she  thought  knowingly. 
But  the  clerk  at  the  desk  gave  him  an  uneasy  glance. 
Men  with  tragic  faces  and  bewildered  eyes  are  not  wel 
comed  by  hotel  clerks. 

"Say,"  he  said,  pleasantly  enough,  as  he  handed  out  a 
key,  "don't  you  want  a  pick-me-up?  You're  kind  o' 
white  round  the  gills." 

David  nodded.  "Where's  the  bar?"  he  said  thickly. 
He  found  his  way  to  it,  and  while  he  waited  for  his  whis 
ky  he  lifted  a  corkscrew  from  the  counter  and  looked  at 
it  closely.  "That's  something  new,  isn't  it?"  he  said  to 
the  man  who  was  rinsing  out  a  glass  for  him;  "I  never 
saw  a  corkscrew  (Elizabeth  has  married  Blair)  with  that 
hook  thing  on  the  side."  He  took  his  two  fingers  of 
whisky,  and  followed  the  bell-boy  to  a  room. 

"I  don't  like  that  young  feller's  looks,"  the  clerk  told 
the  scrub-woman;  "we  don't  want  any  more  free  read 
ing  notices  in  the  papers  of  this  hotel  being  a  roadhouse 
on  the  way  to  heaven."  And  when  the  bell-boy  who 
had  shown  the  unwelcome  guest  to  his  room  came  back 
to  his  bench  in  the  office,  he  interrogated  him,  with  a 
grin  that  was  not  altogether  facetious:  "Any  revolvers 
lyin'  round  up  in  No.  20,  or  any  of  those  knobby  blue 
bottles?" 

257 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Naw,"  said  the  bell-boy,  disgustedly,  "ner  no  dimes, 
neither." 

David,  in  the  small,  unfriendly  hotel  bedroom  that 
looked  out  upon  squalid  back  yards  and  smelled  as  if  its 
one  window  had  not  been  opened  for  a  year,  was  at  last 
alone.  Down  in  the  alley,  a  hand-organ  was  shrilling 
monotonously :  Kafoozleum — Kafoozleum. 

He  looked  about  him  for  a  minute,  then  tried  to  open 
the  window,  but  the  sash  stuck;  he  shook  it  violently, 
then  shoved  it  up  with  such  force  that  a  cracked  pane  of 
glass  clattered  out;  a  gust  of  raw  air  came  into  the 
stagnant  mustiness  of  the  narrow  room.  After  that  he 
sat  down  and  drew  a  long  breath.  Then  he  opened  the 
Door.  .  .  . 

Down-stairs  the  clerk  was  sharing  his  uneasiness  with 
the  barkeeper.  "He  came  in  looking  like  death.  Wild- 
eyed  he  was.  Mrs.  Maloney  there  will  tell  you.  She 
came  up  to  me  and  remarked  on  it.  No,  sir,  men  like 
that  ain't  healthy  for  this  hotel." 

"That's  so,"  the  barkeeper  agreed.  "Why  didn't 
you  tell  him  you  were  full  up?" 

"Well,  he  seemed  the  gentleman,"  the  clerk  said. 
"I  didn't  just  see  my  way — " 

"Huh!"  the  other  flung  back  at  him  resentfully. 
1  'Tain't  only  a  poor  man  that  puts  his  hand  in  the  till, 
and  then  hires  a  room  in  a  hotel" — he  made  a  significant 
gesture  and  rolled  up  his  eyes. 

"He  didn't  register,"  the  clerk  said.  "Only  wanted 
the  room  for  a  couple  of  hours." 

"A  couple  of  hours  is  long  enough  to — "  said  the  bar 
keeper. 

"  Good  idea  to  send  a  boy  up  to  ask  if  he  rung?" 

"I'd  have  sent  him  ten  minutes  ago,"  the  barkeeper 
said  scornfully. 

So  it  was  that  David,  staring  in  at  his  ruin,  was  inter 
rupted  more  than  once  that  morning:  " No,  I  didn't  ring. 
Clear  out."  And  again:  "No;  I'm  not  waiting  for  any- 

258 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

body.  Shut  that  door."  But  the  third  time  he  was 
frantic:  "Damn  it,  if  you  knock  on  my  door  again  I'll 
kick  you  down-stairs!  Do  you  understand?"  And  at 
that  the  office  subsided. 

"They  don't  do  it  when  they're  swearing  mad,"  the 
barkeeper  said.  "I  guess  his  girl  has  given  him  the 
mitten.  You  ladies  are  always  making  trouble  for  us, 
Mrs.  Maloney.  You  drive  us  to  suicide  for  love  of  you!" 
Mrs.  Maloney  simperingly  admitted  her  baleful  influence. 
"As  for  you,"  he  jeered  at  the  clerk,  "you're  fresh,  I 
guess.  That  little  affair  in  18  got  on  your  nerves." 

"Well,  if  you'd  found  him  as  I  did,  I  guess  it  would  'a' 
got  on  your  nerves,"  the  clerk  said,  affrontedly ;  he  added 
under  his  breath  that  they  could  kill  themselves  all  over 
the  house,  and  he  wouldn't  lift  a  finger  to  stop  'em. 
"You  don't  get  no  thanks,"  he  told  himself  gloomily. 
But  after  that,  No.  20  was  not  disturbed. 

At  first,  when  David  opened  his  closed  Door  and 
looked  in,  there  had  been  the  shock  again.  He  was 
stunned  with  incredulous  astonishment.  Then  his 
mind  cleared.  With  the  clearing  came  once  more  that 
organic  anger  of  the  robbed  man;  an  anger  that  has  in 
it  the  uncontrollable  impulse  to  regain  his  property.  It 
could  not  be — this  thing  that  had  happened.  It  should 
not  be! 

He  would  see  her;  he  would  take  her.  As  for  him — 
David's  sinewy  fingers  closed  as  talons  might  close  into 
the  living  flesh  of  a  man's  neck.  He  knew  the  lust  of 
murder,  and  he  exulted  in  it.  Yet  even  as  he  exulted, 
the  baseness  of  what  Blair  had  done  was  so  astound 
ing,  that,  sitting  there  in  the  dreary  room,  his  hands 
clenched  in  his  pockets,  his  legs  stretched  out  in  front  of 
him,  David  Richie  actually  felt  a  sort  of  impersonal 
amazement  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  anger.  For 
one  instant  the  unbelievableness  of  Blair's  dishonor 
threw  him  back  into  that  clamoring  confusion  from 
which  he  had  escaped  since  he  opened  the  Door.  Blair 

259 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

must  have  been  in  love  with  her!  Had  Elizabeth  sus 
pected  it?  She  certainly  had  never  hinted  it  to  him; 
why  not?  Some  girlish  delicacy?  But  Blair — Blair, 
a  dishonorable  man?  In  the  confounding  turmoil  of 
this  uprooting  of  old  admirations,  he  was  conscious  of  the 
hand-organ  down  in  the  alley,  pounding  out  its  imbecile 
refrain.  He  even  found  himself  repeating  the  meaning 
less  words: 

"  In  ancient  days  there  lived  a  Turk, 
A  horrid  beast  within  the  East, 

Oh,  Kafoozleum,  Kafoozleum" — 

His  mind  righted  itself;  he  came  back  to  facts,  and  to 
the  simple  incisive  question :  what  must  he  do  ?  It  was 
not  until  the  afternoon  that,  by  one  tortuous  and  tortur 
ing  line  of  reasoning  after  another,  he  came  to  know  that, 
as  her  uncle  had  said,  for  the  present  he  could  do  nothing. 

"Nothing?"  At  first,  David  had  laughed  savagely; 
he  would  turn  the  world  upside  down  before  he  would 
leave  her  in  her  misery !  For  that  she  was  in  misery  he 
never  doubted;  nor  did  he  stop  to  ask  himself  whether 
she  had  repented  her  madness,  he  only  groaned.  He 
saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  the  whole  thing.  There  was  not 
one  doubt,  not  one  poisonous  suspicion  of  Elizabeth 
herself.  That  she  was  disloyal  to  him  never  entered  his 
head.  To  David  she  was  only  in  a  terrible  trap,  from 
which,  at  any  cost,  she  must  be  rescued.  That  her  own 
mad  temper  had  brought  her  to  such  a  pass  was  neither 
here  nor  there;  it  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter  in 
hand,  namely  her  rescue — and  then  the  killing  of  the 
man  who  had  trapped  her!  It  came  into  David's 
head — like  a  lamp  moving  toward  him  through  a  mist 
— that  perhaps  she  had  written  to  him?  He  had  not 
really  grasped  the  idea  when  Robert  Ferguson  suggested 
it;  but  now  he  was  suddenly  certain  that  a  letter  must 
be  awaiting  him  in  Philadelphia!  Perhaps  in  it  she 

260 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

called  on  him  to  come  and  help  her  ?  The  thought  was 
like  a  whip.  He  forgot  his  desire  to  kill  Blair;  he  leaped 
to  his  feet,  fumbling  in  his  pocket  for  a  time-table;  then 
realized  that  there  was  no  train  across  the  mountains 
until  night.  Should  he  telegraph  his  mother  to  open 
any  letter  from  Elizabeth,  and  wire  him  where  she  was  ? 
No;  even  in  the  whirl  of  his  perplexity,  he  knew  he  could 
not  let  any  other  eyes  than  his  own  see  what,  in  her 
abasement,  Elizabeth  must  have  written.  He  began  to 
pace  frantically  up  and  down;  then  stood  and  looked 
out  of  the  window,  beating  his  mind  back  to  calmness, — 
for  he  must  be  calm.  He  must  think  what  could  be 
done.  He  would  get  the  letter  as  soon  as  he  reached 
home;  until  he  got  it  and  learned  where  she  was,  the 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  decide  how  she  should  be  saved. 
And  so  it  was  that,  not  allowing  himself  to  dip  down 
into  that  elemental  rage  of  the  wronged  man,  not  even 
daring  to  think  of  his  own  incredible  blunder  which  had 
kindled  her  crazy  anger,  still  less  venturing  to  let  his 
thought  rest  on  the  suffering  that  had  come  to  her,  he 
kept  his  mind  steadily  on  that  one  imperative  question: 
what  was  to  be  done?  At  first  the  situation  seemed  almost 
simple:  she  must  leave  Blair  instantly.  "To-day!"  he 
said  to  himself,  striking  the  rickety  table  before  him  with 
his  fist;  "to-day!"  Next,  the  marriage  must  be  an 
nulled.  That  was  all;  annulled!  These  were  the 
premises  from  which  he  started.  All  that  long,  dark 
morning,  well  into  the  afternoon,  he  followed  blind  al 
leys  of  thought,  ending  always  in  the  same  impasse — 
there  was  nothing  he  could  do.  He  did  not  even  know 
where  she  was,  until  the  letter  in  Philadelphia  should 
tell  him, — at  that  thought  he  looked  at  his  watch  again. 
Oh,  how  many  endless  hours  before  he  could  go  and  get 
that  letter!  And  after  all,  she  was  Blair  Maitland's 
wife.  Suppose  she  did  leave  him,  would  the  swine  give 
her  her  freedom  ?  Not  without  long,  involved  processes 
of  law;  he  knew  his  man  well  enough  to  know  that. 

261 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Yes,  there  would  have  to  be  dreadful  publicity,  heart 
breaking  humiliation  for  his  poor,  mad  darling.  She 
would  have  to  face  those  things.  Oh,  if  he  only  knew 
where  she  was,  so  that  he  could  go  that  moment  and 
help  her  to  take  that  first  step  of  flight.  She  must  go 
at  once  to  his  mother.  Yes,  his  mother  would  shelter 
her  from  the  beast.  If  he  could  only  get  word  to  her, 
to  go,  instantly,  to  his  mother.  But  he  did  not  know 
where  she  was !  He  cursed  himself  for  not  having  taken 
the  ten  o'clock  express!  He  could  have  been  at  home 
that  night,  had  her  letter,  and  started  out  again  to  go  to 
her.  As  it  was,  nothing  could  be  done  until  to-morrow 
morning.  Then  he  would  know  what  to  do,  because 
then  he  would  know  where  she  was.  But  meantime — 
meantime  .  .  . 

There  is  no  doubt  that  when  the  frantic  man  realized 
his  befogging  ignorance,  and  found  himself  involved  in 
this  dreadful  delay,  the  hotel  clerk's  apprehensions  were, 
at  least  for  wild  moments,  justified.  But  only  for  mo 
ments — Elizabeth  was  to  be  rescued!  David  could  not 
consider  escape  from  his  own  misery  until  that  task  had 
been  accomplished.  Yet  consider:  his  girl,  his  woman — 
another  man's;  and  he  helpless!  And  suppose  he  did 
rescue  her;  suppose  he  did  drag  her  from  the  arms  of  the 
thief  who  had  been  his  friend — could  it  ever  be  the  same  ? 
Never.  Never.  Never.  His  Elizabeth  was  dead.  The 
woman  whom  he  meant  to  have  yet — somehow,  some 
time,  somewhere;  the  woman  whom  Blair  Maitland  had 
filched  from  him,  was  not  his  Elizabeth.  The  rose, 
trampled  in  the  mire,  may  be  lifted,  it  may  be  revived,  it 
may  be  fragrant — but  it  has  known  the  mire ! 

There  were,  in  the  early  darkening  afternoon,  crazy 
moments  for  David  Richie.  Moments  of  murderous 
hate  of  Blair,  moments  of  unbearable  consciousness  of 
his  own  responsibility,  moments  of  almost  repulsion  for 
the  tragic,  marred  creature  he  loved;  and  at  this  last 
appalling  revelation  to  himself  of  his  own  possibilities — 

262 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

moments  of  absolute  despair.  And  when  one  of  those 
despairing  moments  came,  he  put  his  head  down  on  the 
table,  on  his  folded  arms,  and  cried  for  his  mother.  He 
cried  hard,  like  a  child:  "Maternal" 

And  so  it  was  that  he  arose  and  went  to  his  mother. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

WHEN,  after  his  interview  with  David,  Robert  Fer 
guson  went  into  Mrs.  Maitland's  office  at  the  Works,  he 
looked  older  by  twenty  years  than  when  he  had  left  it 
the  night  before.  Sarah  Maitland,  sitting  at  her  desk, 
heard  his  step,  and  wheeled  round  to  greet  him. 

"Better  shut  that  door,"  she  said  briefly;  and  he  gave 
the  door  in  the  glass  partition  a  shove  with  his  foot. 
Then  they  looked  at  each  other.  "Well,"  she  said; 
and  stretched  out  her  hand.  "We're  in  the  same  box. 
I  guess  we'd  better  shake  hands."  She  grinned  with 
pain,  but  she  forced  her  grunt  of  a  laugh.  "  What's 
your  story?  Mine  is  only  his  explanation  to  Nannie." 

"Mine  isn't  even  that.  She  merely  wrote  me  she  had 
married  him;  that  was  all.  Miss  White  told  me  what  he 
wrote  to  Nannie.  What  do  you  know  about  it?" 

"That's  all  I  know,"  she  said,  and  gave  him  Blair's 
note. 

He  read  it,  and  handed  it  back  in  silence. 

"Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?"  she  asked. 

"Do ?     There's  nothing  to  do.     I'm  done  with  her!" 

"He's  my  son,"  Sarah  Maitland  said.  "I  have  got  to 
do  something." 

"But  there's  nothing  to  be  done,"  he  pointed  out; 
it  was  not  like  this  ruthless  woman  to  waste  time  crying 
over  spilt  milk.  "They  are  both  of  age,  and  they  are 
married ;  that's  all  there  is  to  it.  I  went  into  the  mayor's 
office  and  found  the  registry.  The  marriage  is  all  right 
so  far  as  that  goes.  As  for  David — men  don't  go  out 
with  a  gun  or  a  horsewhip  in  these  fine  times.  He  won't 

264 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

do  anything.  For  that  matter,  he  is  well  rid  of  her.  I 
told  him  so.  I  might  have  added  that  the  best  thing  a 
jilted  man  can  do  is  to  go  down  on  his  knees  and  thank 
God  that  he's  been  jilted;  I  know  what  I'm  talking 
about!  As  for  your  son — "  he  stopped. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "my  son?"  And  even  in  his  fury, 
Robert  Ferguson  felt  a  pang  at  the  sight  of  her  torn  and 
ravaged  face  that  quivered  so  that  he  turned  his  eyes 
away  out  of  sheer  decency.  "I  must  do  something  for 
my  son.  And  I  think  I  know  what  it  will  be."  She  bit 
her  forefinger,  frowning  with  thought.  "I  think  I 
know  ...  I  have  not  done  right  by  Blair." 

"No,  you  haven't,"  he  said  dryly.  "Have  you  just 
discovered  that?  But  I  don't  see  what  you  or  I  or 
God  Almighty  can  do  now!  They're  married." 

"Oh,  I  can't  do  anything  about  this  marriage,"  she 
said,  with  a  gesture  of  indifference;  "but  that's  not  the 
important  thing." 

"Not  important?     What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  mean  that  the  important  thing  is  to  know  what 
made  Blair  behave  in  this  way;  and  then  cure  him." 

"Cure  him!  There's  no  cure  for  rottenness."  He 
was  so  beside  himself  with  pain  that  he  forgot  that  she 
was  a  woman,  and  Blair's  mother. 

"I  blame  myself  for  Blair's  conduct,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  Elizabeth  is  as  bad  as  he  is!"  But  he  waited 
for  her  contradiction. 

It  did  not  come.  "Probably  worse."  Involuntarily 
he  raised  a  protesting  hand. 

"But  I  mean  to  forgive  her,"  said  Sarah  Maitland, 
with  cold  determination. 

"Forgive  Elizabeth?"  he  said,  angrily,  and  his  anger 
was  the  very  small  end  of  the  wedge  of  his  own  forgive 
ness;  "forgive  lier?  It  strikes  me  the  boot  is  on  the 
other  leg,  Mrs.  Maitland." 

"Oh,  well,"  she  said,  "what  difference  does  it  make? 
I  guess  it's  a  case  of  the  pot  and  the  kettle.  I'm  not 

265 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

blaming  your  girl  overmuch;  although  a  bad  woman  is 
always  worse  than  a  bad  man.  In  this  case,  Elizabeth 
acted  from  hate,  and  Blair  from  love;  the  result  is  the 
same,  of  course,  but  one  motive  is  worse  than  the  other. 
But  never  mind  that — Blair  has  got  her,  and  he  will  be 
faithful  to  her;  for  awhile,  anyhow.  And  Elizabeth  will 
get  used  to  him — that's  Nature,  and  Nature  is  bigger 
than  a  girl's  first  fancy.  So  if  David  doesn't  interfere — 
you  think  he  won't?  you  don't  know  human  nature, 
Friend  Ferguson !  David  isn't  a  saint — at  least  I  hope  he 
isn't;  I  don't  care  much  about  twenty-seven-year-old 
male  saints.  David  may  not  be  able  to  interfere,  but 
he'll  try  to,  somehow.  You  wait!  As  for  Blair,  as  I 
say,  if  David  doesn't  put  his  finger  in  the  pie,  Blair  isn't 
hopeless." 

"I'm  glad  you  think  so." 

"I  do  think  so.  Blair  is  young  yet;  and  if  she  costs 
him  something,  he  may  value  her — and  I  think  I  can 
manage  to  make  her  cost  him  something !  A  man  doesn't 
value  what  comes  cheap;  and  all  his  life  everything  has 
come  cheap  to  Blair." 

"I  don't  see  what  you're  driving  at." 

"Just  this,"  she  explained;  "Blair  has  had  everything 
he  wanted, — oh,  yes,  yes;  it's  my  fault!"  she  struck  an 
impatient  fist  upon  the  arm  of  her  chair.  "  I  told  you  it 
was  my  fault.  Don't  take  precious  time  to  argue  over 
that.  It  is  all  my  fault.  There!  will  that  satisfy  you ? 
I've  given  him  everything.  So  he  thought  he  could  have 
everything.  He  doesn't  know  the  meaning  of  'no.' 
He  has  got  to  learn.  I  shall  teach  him.  I  have  thought 
it  all  out.  I'm  going  to  make  a  man  of  him." 

"How?"  said  Robert  Ferguson. 

"I  haven't  got  the  details  clear  in  my  mind  yet,  but 
this  is  the  gist  of  it :  No  money  but  what  he  earns." 

"No  money?" 

"  After  this,  it  will  be  '  root,  hog,  or  die.' " 

"But  Blair  can't  root,"  her  superintendent  said,  fair  in 
266 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

spite  of  himself.  And  at  that  her  face  lighted  with  a 
sort  of  awful  purpose. 

"Then  he  must  die!  Ferguson,  don't  you  see — he  has 
begun  to  die  already?"  Again  her  face  quivered.  "  Look 
at  this  business  of  taking  David's  wife — oh,  I  know,  they 
weren't  married  yet,  but  the  principle  is  the  same; 
what  do  you  call  that  but  dying?  Look  at  his  whole 
life:  what  has  he  done?  Received — received!  Given 
nothing.  Ferguson,  you  can't  fool  God:  you've  got  to 
give  something!  A  privilege  means  an  obligation — the 
obligation  of  sweat!  Sweat  of  your  body  or  your 
brains.  Blair  has  never  sweated.  He's  always  had 
something  for  nothing.  That  is  the  one  immorality 
that  damns.  It  has  damned  Blair.  Of  course,  I  ought 
to  have  realized  it  before,  but  I — I  suppose  I  was  too 
busy.  Yes;  I  tell  you,  if  Blair  had  had  to  work  for 
what  he's  got,  as  you  and  I  have  worked  for  what 
we've  got,  he  wouldn't  be  where  he  is  to-day.  You 
know  that!  He'd  have  had  something  else  to  think  of 
than  satisfying  his  eyes,  or  his  stomach,  or  his  lust. 
He'd  have  been  decent." 

"He  might  have  been,"  Robert  Ferguson  said  drearily, 
"but  I  doubt  it.  Anyway,  you  can't,  by  making  him 
earn  or  go  without,  or  anything  else,  give  David's  girl 
back  to  him." 

"No,"  she  said  heavily,  and  for  a  moment  her  passion 
of  hope  flagged;  "no,  I  can't  do  that.  But  I  shall  try 
to  make  it  up  to  David  in  some  way,  of  course.  Where 
is  he?"  she  broke  off. 

He  told  her  briefly  of  David's  arrival  and  departure. 
"He's  gone  back  to  his  mother,"  he  ended;  "she'll  com 
fort  him."  Then,  with  a  bark  of  anger,  he  added,  "Mrs. 
Richie  was  always  saying  that  Elizabeth  would  turn  out 
well.  I  wonder  what  she  will  say  now ?  I  knew  better; 
her  mother,  my  brother  Arthur's  wife,  was — no  good. 
Yet  I  let  Mrs.  Richie  bamboozle  me  into  building  on  her. 
I  always  said  Life  shouldn't  play  the  same  trick  on  me 

267 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

twice — but  it  has  done  it!  It  has  done  it.  My  heart 
was  set  on  Elizabeth.  Yes,  Mrs.  Maitland,  I've  been 
fooled  again — but  so  have  you." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind!  I  never  was  fooled  before," 
Sarah  Maitland  said;  "and  I  sha'n't  be  again.  I  am 
going  to  make  a  man  of  my  son!  As  for  your  girl, 
forgive  her,  Ferguson.  Don't  be  a  fool;  you  take  it  out 
of  yourself  when  you  refuse  forgiveness." 

"I'll  never  forgive  her,"  said  Robert  Ferguson;  "she's 
hurt  the  woman  I — I  have  a  regard  for;  she's  made 
David's  mother  suffer.  I'm  done  with  her!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WHEN,  on  drunken  and  then  on  leaden  feet,  there 
came  to  Elizabeth  the  ruthless  to-morrow  of  her  act,  her 
first  clear  thought  was  to  kill  herself.  .  .  . 

After  the  marriage  in  the  mayor's  office — where  they 
paused  long  enough  to  write  the  two  notes  that  were 
received  the  next  day — Blair  had  fled  with  her  up  into 
the  mountains  to  a  little  hotel,  where  they  would  not,  he 
felt  certain,  encounter  any  acquaintances. 

Elizabeth  neither  assented  nor  objected.  From  the 
moment  she  had  struck  her  hand  into  his,  there  in  the 
tawdry  "saloon"  of  the  toll-house,  and  cried  out, 
"Come!"  she  let  him  do  as  he  chose.  So  he  had  carried 
her  away  to  the  city  hall,  where,  like  any  other  unclassed 
or  unchurched  lovers,  they  were  married  by  a  hurried 
city  official.  She  had  had  one  more  crisis  of  rage,  when 
in  the  mayor's  office,  as  she  stood  at  a  high  wall  desk  and 
wrote  with  an  ink-encrusted  pen  that  brief  note  to  her 
uncle,  she  said  to  herself  that,  as  to  David  Richie,  he 
could  hear  the  news  from  her  uncle — or  never  hear  it; 
she  didn't  care  which.  Then  for  an  instant  her  eyes 
glittered  again;  but  except  for  that  one  moment,  she 
seemed  stunned,  mind  and  body.  To  Blair,  her  silent 
acquiescences  had  been  signs  that  he  had  won  something 
more  than  her  consent  to  revenge  herself  upon  David,— 
and  he  wanted  more!  In  all  his  life  he  had  never  deeply 
cared  for  anybody  but  himself;  but  now,  under  the 
terrible  selfishness  of  his  act,  under  the  primitive  in 
stinct  that  he  called  love,  there  was,  trembling  in  the 
depths  of  his  nature,  Love.  It  had  been  born  only  a 

269 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

little  while  ago,  this  new,  naked  baby  of  Love.  It  had 
had  no  power  and  no  knowledge ;  unaided  by  that  silent 
god  of  his,  it  had  not  been  strong  enough  to  save  him 
from  himself,  or  save  Elizabeth  from  him.  But  he  did 
love  her,  in  spite  of  his  treason  to  her  soul,  for  he  was 
tender  with  her,  and  almost  humble ;  yet  his  purpose  was 
inflexible.  It  seemed  to  him  it  must  find  response  in 
her.  Such  purpose  might  strike  fire  from  the  most 
unbending  steel — why  not  from  this  yielding,  silent 
thing,  Elizabeth's  heart?  But  numb  and  flaccid,  per 
fectly  apathetic,  stunned  by  that  paroxysm  of  fury,  she 
no  more  responded  to  him  than  down  would  have  re 
sponded  to  the  blow  of  flint.  .  .  . 

It  was  their  second  day  in  the  mountains.  Blair, 
going  down-stairs  very  early  in  the  morning,  stopped  in 
the  office  of  the  hotel  to  write  a  brief  but  intensely  polite 
note  to  his  mother,  telling  her  of  his  marriage.  "  Nannie 
will  have  broken  it  to  her — poor,  dear  old  Nannie!"  he 
said  to  himself,  pounding  a  stamp  down  on  the  envelope, 
"but  of  course  it's  proper  to  announce  it  myself."  Then 
he  dropped  the  "announcement"  into  the  post-bag,  and 
went  out  for  a  tramp  in  the  woods.  It  was  a  still,  furtive 
morning  of  low  clouds,  with  an  expectancy  of  snow  in  the 
air.  But  it  was  not  cold,  and  when,  leaving  the  road 
and  pushing  aside  the  frosted  ferns  and  underbrush,  he 
found  himself  in  the  silence  of  the  woods,  he  sat  down 
on  a  fallen  tree  trunk  to  think.  .  .  .  The  moment  had 
come  when  the  only  god  he  knew  would  no  longer  be 
denied. 

"I  might  as  well  face  it,"  he  said;  and  slowly  lit  a 
cigar.  But  instead  of  "facing  it,"  he  began  to  watch 
the  first  sparse  and  fitful  beginnings  of  snow — hesitant 
flakes  that  sauntered  down  to  rest  for  a  crystal  moment 
on  his  coat  sleeve.  Suddenly  he  caught  his  thoughts  to 
gether  with  a  jerk:  "I've  got  to  think  it  out!"  he  said. 
Curiously  enough,  when  he  said  this  his  thought  did  not 
turn  with  any  especial  distinctness  to  David  Richie. 

270 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Instead,  in  the  next  hour  of  reasonings  and  excuses, 
there  was  always,  back  in  his  mind,  one  face — scornful, 
contemptuous  even;  a  face  he  had  known  only  as  gentle, 
and  sometimes  tender;  the  face  of  David's  mother. 
Once  he  swore  at  himself,  to  drive  that  face  out  of  his 
mind.  "What  a  fool  I  am!  Elizabeth  had  broken 
her  engagement  with  him.  I  had  the  right  to  speak 
before  the  thing  was  smoothed  over  again.  Any 
body  would  say  so,  even — even  Mrs.  Richie  if  she  could 
really  understand  how  things  were.  But  of  course  she 
will  only  see  his  side."  All  his  excuses  for  his  conduct 
were  in  relation  to  David  Richie;  he  did  not  think  of 
Elizabeth.  He  honestly  did  not  know  that  he  had 
wronged  her.  He  loved  her  so  crazily  that  he  could  not 
realize  his  cruelty. 

It  was  snowing  steadily  now;  he  could  hear  the  faint 
patter  of  small,  hard  flakes  on  the  dry  oak  leaves  over 
his  head.  Suddenly  some  bleached  and  withered  ferns 
in  front  of  him  rustled,  and  he  saw  wise,  bright  eyes 
looking  at  him.  '  "I  wish  I  had  some  nuts  for  you,  bun 
ny,"  he  said — and  the  bright  eyes  vanished  with  a  furry 
whirl  through  the  ferns.  He  picked  up  the  empty  half 
of  a  hickory-nut,  and  turning  it  over  in  his  fingers,  looked 
at  the  white  grooves  left  by  small  sharp  teeth.  "You 
little  beggars  must  get  pretty  hungry  in  the  winter,  bun 
ny,"  he  said;  "I'll  bring  a  bag  of  nuts  out  here  for  you 
some  day."  But  while  he  was  talking  to  the  squirrel,  he 
was  wrestling  with  his  god.  It  was  characteristic  of  him 
that  never  once  in  that  struggle  to  justify  himself  did  he 
use  the  excuse  of  Elizabeth's  consent.  His  code,  which 
had  allowed  him  to  injure  a  woman,  would  not  permit 
him  to  blame  her — even  if  she  deserved  it.  Instead, 
over  and  over  he  heaped  up  his  own  poor  defense:  " If  I 
had  waited,  he  might  have  patched  it  up  with  her." 
Over  and  over  the  defense  crumbled  before  his  eyes: 
"it  was  contemptible  not  to  give  him  the  chance  to 
patch  it  up."  Then  would  come  his  angry  retort: 

18  27' 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"That's  nonsense!  Besides  it  is  better,  infinitely  bet 
ter,  for  her  to  marry  me  than  a  poor  man  like  him. 
I  can  give  her  everything, — and  love  her!  God,  how  I 
love  her.  Apart  from  any  selfish  consideration,  it  is  a 
thousand  times  better  for  her."  For  an  instant  his 
marrying  her  seemed  actually  chivalrous;  and  at  that  his 
god  laughed.  Blair  reddened  sharply;  to  recognize  his 
hypocrisy  was  the  "touch  on  the  hollow  of  the  thigh;  and 
the  hollow  of  the  thigh  was  out  of  joint"!  He  pitched 
the  nut  away  with  a  vicious  fling,  and  knew,  inarticu 
lately,  that  there  was  no  use  lying  to  himself  any  longer. 

With  blank  eyes  he  watched  the  snow  piling  up  on  a 
withered  stalk  of  goldenrod.  "  I  wish  it  hadn't  happened 
in  just  the  way  it  did,"  he  conceded; — his  god  was  be 
ginning  to  prevail! — "but  if  I  had  waited,  I  might  have 
lost  her."  Then  a  thought  stabbed  him:  suppose 
that  he  should  lose  her  anyhow?  Suppose  that  when 
she  came  to  herself  —  the  phrase  was  a  confession! 
suppose  she  should  want  to  leave  him?  It  was  an 
intolerable  idea.  "Well,  she  can't,"  he  told  himself, 
grimly,  "she  can't,  now."  His  face  was  dusky  with 
shame,  yet  when  he  said  that,  his  lip  loosened  in  a 
furtively  exultant  smile.  Blair  would  have  been  less,  or 
more,  than  a  man  if,  at  that  moment,  in  spite  of  his 
shame,  he  had  not  exulted.  "She's  my  wife!"  he  said, 
through  those  shamed  and  smiling  lips.  Then  his  eyes 
narrowed:  "And  she  doesn't  care  a  damn  for  me." 

So  it  was  that  as  he  sat  there  in  the  snow,  watching 
the  puff  of  white  deepen  on  the  stalk  of  goldenrod,  his 
god  prevailed  yet  a  little  more,  for,  so  far  as  Elizabeth 
was  concerned,  he  did  not  try  to  fool  himself:  "she 
doesn't  care  a  damn."  But  when  he  said  that,  he  saw 
the  task  of  his  life  before  him — to  make  her  care !  It  was 
like  the  touch  of  a  spur;  he  leaped  to  his  feet,  and  flung 
up  his  arms  in  a  sort  of  challenge.  Yes;  he  had  "  done 
the  thing  a  man  can't  do."  Yes;  he  ought  not  to  have 
taken  advantage  of  her  anger.  Yes;  his  honor  was 

272 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

smirched — grant  it  all!  grant  it  all!  "I  was  mad,"  he 
said,  stung  by  this  intolerable  self-knowledge;  "I  was  a 
cur.  I  ought  to  have  waited;  I  know  it.  I  admit  it. 
But  what's  the  use  of  talking  about  it  now?  It's  done; 
and  by  God,  she  shall  love  me  yet!" 

So  it  was  that  his  god  blessed  him,  as  the  best  that  is  in 
us,  always  blesses  us  when  it  conquers  us:  the  blessing 
was  the  revelation  of  his  own  dishonor.  It  is  a  divine 
moment,  this  of  the  consciousness  of  having  been  faith 
less  to  one's  own  ideals.  And  Blair  Maitland,  a  false 
friend,  a  selfish  and  cruel  lover,  was  not  entirely  con 
temptible,  for  his  eyes,  beautiful  and  evasive,  confessed 
the  shock  of  a  heavenly  vision. 

As  he  walked  home,  he  laid  his  plans  very  carefully: 
he  must  show  her  the  most  delicate  consideration;  he 
must  avoid  every  possible  annoyance;  he  must  do  this, 
he  must  not  do  that.  "And  I'll  buy  her  a  pearl  neck 
lace,"  he  told  himself,  too  absorbed  in  the  gravity  of  the 
situation  to  see  in  such  an  impulse  the  assertion  that  he 
was  indeed  his  mother's  son!  But  the  foundation  of  all 
his  plans  for  making  Elizabeth  content,  was  the  deter 
mination  not  to  admit  for  a  single  instant,  to  anybody 
but  himself,  that  he  had  done  anything  to  be  ashamed 
of.  Which  showed  that  his  god  was  not  yet  God. 

When  he  got  back  to  the  hotel,  he  found  that  Elizabeth 
had  not  left  her  room;  and  rushing  up-stairs  two  steps 
at  a  time,  he  knocked  at  her  door.  .  .  .  She  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  her  lips  parted,  her  eyes  staring 
blindly  out  of  the  window  at  the  snow.  The  flakes  were 
so  thick  now  that  the  meadow  on  the  other  side  of  the 
road  and  the  mountain  beyond  were  blurred  and  almost 
blotted  out ;  there  was  a  gray  pallor  on  her  face  as  if  the 
shadow  of  the  storm  had  fallen  on  it.  Instantly  Blair 
knew  that  she  "had  come  to  herself."  As  he  stood 
looking  at  her,  something  tightened  in  his  throat;  he 
broke  out  into  the  very  last  thing  he  had  meant  to  say: 
' '  Elizabeth — forgive  me !" 

273 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I  ought  to  die,  you  know,"  she  said,  without  turning 
her  eyes  from  the  window  and  the  falling  snow. 

He  came  and  knelt  down  beside  her,  and  kissed  her 
hand.  "Elizabeth,  dearest!  When  I  love  you  so?" 

He  kissed  her  shoulder.     She  shivered. 

"My  darling,"  he  said,  passionately. 

She  looked  at  him  dully;  "  I  wish  you  would  go  away." 

"Elizabeth,  let  me  tell  you  how  I  love  you." 

"Love  me?"  she  said;    "me?" 

"Elizabeth!"  he  protested;  "you  are  an  angel,  and 
I  love  you — no  man  ever  loved  a  woman  as  I  love 
you." 

In  her  abasement  she  never  thought  of  reproaching 
him,  of  saying  "if  you  loved  me,  why  did  you  betray 
me?"  She  had  not  gone  as  far  as  that  yet.  Her  fall 
had  been  so  tremendous  that  if  she  had  any  feeling  about 
him,  it  was  nothing  more  than  the  consciousness  that  he 
too,  had  gone  over  the  precipice.  "  Please  go  away,"  she 
said. 

"Dearest,  listen;  you  are  my  wife.  If — if  I  hurried 
you  too  much,  you  will  forgive  me  because  I  loved  you 
so  ?  I  didn't  dare  to  wait,  for  fear — "  he  stumbled  on  the 
confession  which  his  god  had  wrung  from  him,  but  which 
must  not  be  made  to  her.  Elizabeth's  heavy  eyes  were 
suddenly  keen. 

"Fear  of  what?" 

" Oh,  don't  look  at  me  that  way!  I  love  you  so  that  it 
kills  me  to  have  you  angry  at  me!" 

"  I  am  not  angry  with  you,"  she  said,  faintly  surprised; 
"why  should  I  be  angry  with  you?  Only,  you  see,  Blair, 
I — I  can't  live.  I  simply  can't  live." 

"You  have  got  to  live!— or  I'll  die,"  he  said.  "I 
love  you,  I  tell  you  I  love  you!"  His  outstretched, 
trembling  hands  entreated  hers,  but  she  would  not  yield 
them  to  his  touch;  her  shrinking  movement  away  from 
him,  her  hands  gripped  together  at  her  throat,  rilled  him 
with  absolute  terror:  "Elizabeth!  don't — " 

274 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

She  glanced  at  him  with  stony  eyes.  Blair  was  suffer 
ing.  Why  should  he  suffer?  But  his  suffering  did  not 
interest  her.  "  Please  go  away,"  she  said,  heavily. 

He  went.  He  dared  not  stay.  He  left  her,  going 
miserably  down-stairs  to  make  a  pretense  of  eating  some 
breakfast.  But  all  the  while  he  was  arranging  entreaties 
and  arguments  in  his  own  mind.  He  went  to  the  door 
of  their  room  a  dozen  times  that  morning,  but  it  was 
locked.  No,  she  did  not  want  any  breakfast.  Wouldn't 
she  come  out  and  walk?  No,  no,  no.  Please  let  her 
alone.  And  then  in  the  afternoon;  "Elizabeth,  I  must 
come  in!  You  must  have  some  food." 

She  let  him  enter;  but  she  was  indifferent  alike  to  the 
food  and  to  the  fact  that  by  this  time  there  was,  of 
course,  a  giggling  consciousness  in  the  hotel  that  the 
"bride  and  groom  had  had  a  rumpus."  .  .  .  "A  nice  be 
ginning  for  a  honeymoon,"  said  the  chambermaid,  "lock 
ing  that  pretty  young  man  out  of  her  room! — and  me 
with  my  work  to  do  in  there.  Well,  I'm  sorry  for  him; 
I  bet  you  she's  a  case." 

Blair,  too,  was  indifferent  to  anything  ridiculous  in 
his  position;  the  moment  was  too  critical  for  such  self- 
consciousness.  When  at  last  he  took  a  little  tray  of 
food  to  his  wife,  and  knelt  beside  her,  begging  her  to  eat, 
he  was  appalled  at  the  ruin  in  her  face.  She  drank  some 
tea  to  please  him;  then  she  said,  pitifully: 

"What  shall  we  do,  Blair?"  That  she  should  say 
"we"  showed  that  these  hours  which  had  plowed  her 
face  had  also  sowed  some  seed  of  unselfishness  in  her 
broken  soul. 

"Darling,"  he  said,  tenderly,  "have  you  forgiven  me?" 

At  this  she  meditated  for  a  minute,  staring  with  big, 
anguished  eyes  straight  ahead  of  her  at  nothing;  "I 
think  I  have,  Blair.  I  have  tried  to.  Of  course  I  know 
I  was  more  wicked  than  you.  It  was  more  my  doing 
than  yours.  Yes.  I  ought  to  ask  you  if  you  would  for 
give  me." 

275 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Elizabeth!  Forgive  you?  When  you  made  me  so 
happy !  Am  I  to  forgive  you  for  making  me  happy  ?" 

" Blair,"  she  said — she  put  the  palms  of  her  hands  to 
gether,  like  a  child;  "Blair,  please  let  me  go."  She 
looked  at  him  with  speechless  entreaty.  The  old  domi 
nant  Elizabeth  was  gone ;  here  was  nothing  but  the  weak 
thing,  the  scared  thing,  pleading,  crouching,  begging  for 
mercy.  "Please,  Blair,  please — " 

But  the  very  tragedy  of  such  humbleness  was  that  it 
made  an  appeal  to  passion  rather  than  to  mercy.  It 
made  him  love  her  more,  not  pity  her  more.  "I  can't 
let  you  go,  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  hoarsely;  "I  can't;  -I 
love  you — I  will  never  let  you  go!  I  will  die  before  I 
will  let  you  go!" 

With  that  cry  of  complete  egotism  from  him,  the 
storm  which  her  egotism  had  let  loose  upon  their  little 
world  broke  over  her  own  head.  As  the  sense  of  the 
hopelessness  of  her  position  and  the  futility  of  her  strug 
gle  dawned  upon  her,  she  grew  frightened  to  the  point  of 
violence.  She  was  outrageous  in  what  she  said  to  him — 
beating  against  the  walls  of  this  prison-house  of  marriage 
which  she  herself  had  reared  about  them,  and  crying 
wildly  for  freedom.  Yet  strangely  enough,  her  fury  was 
never  the  fury  of  temper;  it  was  the  fury  of  fear.  In  her 
voice  there  was  a  new  note,  a  note  of  entreaty;  she  de 
manded,  but  not  with  the  old  invincible  determination 
of  the  free  Elizabeth.  She  was  now  only  the  woman 
pleading  with  the  man;  the  wife,  begging  the  husband. 

Through  it  all,  her  jailer,  insulted,  commanded,  threat 
ened,  never  lost  a  gentleness  that  had  sprung  up  in  him 
side  by  side  with  love.  It  was,  of  course,  the  gentleness 
of  power,  although  he  did  not  realize  that,  for  he  was  ab 
jectly  frightened ;  he  never  stopped  to  reassure  himself  by 
remembering  that,  after  all,  rave  as  she  might,  she  was 
his!  He  was  incredibly  soft  with  her — up  to  a  certain 
point:  "I  will  never  let  you  go!"  If  his  god  spoke,  the 
whisper  was  drowned  in  that  gale  of  selfishness.  Eliza- 

276 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

beth,  now,  was  the  flint,  striking  that  she  might  kindle  in 
Blair  some  fire  of  anger  which  would  burn  up  the  whole  ed 
ifice  of  her  despair.  But  he  opposed  to  her  fiercest  blows 
of  terror  and  entreaty  nothing  but  this  softness  of  fright 
ened  love  and  unconscious  power.  He  cowered  at  the 
thought  of  losing  her;  he  entreated  her  pity,  her  mercy; 
he  wept  before  her.  The  whole  scene  in  that  room  in  the 
inn,  with  the  silent  whirl  of  snow  outside  the  windows,  was 
one  of  dreadful  abasement  and  brutality  on  both  sides. 

"I  am  a  bad  woman.  I  will  not  stay  with  you.  I 
will  kill  myself  first.  I  am  going  away.  I  am  going 
away  to-night." 

"Then  you  will  kill  me.  Elizabeth!  Think  how  I 
love  you ;  think !  And — he  wouldn't  want  you,  since  you 
threw  him  over.  You  couldn't  go  back  to  him." 

"Go  back  to  David?  now?  How  can  you  say  such  a 
thing!  I  am  dead,  so  far  as  he  is  concerned.  Oh — oh — 
oh, — why  am  I  not  dead?  Why  do  I  go  on  living?  I 
will  kill  myself  rather  than  stay  with  you!"  It  seemed 
to  Elizabeth  that  she  had  forgotten  David;  she  had  for 
gotten  that  she  had  meant  to  write  him  a  terrible  letter. 
She  had  forgotten  everything  but  the  blasting  realiza 
tion  of  what  had  happened  to  her.  "Do  not  dare  to 
speak  his  name!"  she  said,  frantically.  "I  cannot  bear 
it !  I  cannot  bear  it !  I  am  dead  to  him.  He  despises 
me,  as  I  despise  myself.  Blair,  I  can't — I  can't  live; 
I  can't  go  on — " 

In  the  end  he  conquered.  There  were  two  days  and 
nights  of  struggle;  and  then  she  yielded.  Blair's  re 
iterated  appeal  was  to  her  sense  of  justice.  Curiously, 
but  most  characteristically,  through  all  the  clamor  of  her 
despair  at  this  incredible  thing  that  she  had  done,  justice 
was  the  one  word  which  penetrated  to  her  consciousness. 
Was  it  fair,  she  debated,  numbly,  in  one  of  their  long, 
aching  silences,  was  it  just,  that  because  she  had  ruined 
herself,  she  should  ruin  him  ? 

She  had  locked  herself  in  her  room,  and  was  sitting 
277 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

with  her  head  on  her  arms  that  were  stretched  before  her 
on  a  little  table.  Blair  had  gone  out  for  one  of  his  long, 
wretched  walks  through  the  snow;  sometimes  he  took 
the  landlord's  dog  along  for  company,  and  on  this  partic 
ular  morning,  a  morning  of  brilliant  sunshine  and  cold, 
insolent  wind,  he  had  stopped  to  buy  a  bag  of  nuts  for  the 
hungry  squirrels  in  the  woods.  As  he  walked  he  was 
planning,  planning,  planning,  how  he  could  make  his 
misery  touch  Elizabeth's  heart;  he  was  all  unconscious 
that  her  misery  had  not  yet  touched  his  heart.  But 
Elizabeth,  locked  in  her  room,  was  beginning  to  think  of 
his  misery.  Dully  at  first,  then  with  dreary  concentra 
tion,  she  went  over  in  her  mind  his  arguments  and  plead 
ings:  he  was  satisfied  to  love  her  even  if  she  didn't  love 
him;  he  had  known  what  stakes  he  played  for,  and  he 
was  willing  to  abide  by  them;  she  ought  to  do  the  same; 
she  had  done  this  thing — she  had  married  him,  was  it 
fair,  now,  to  destroy  him,  soul  and  body,  just  because 
she  had  acted  on  a  moment's  impulse  ?  In  a  crisis  of  ter 
ror, 'his  primitive  instinct  of  self-preservation  had  swept 
away  the  acquired  instinct  of  chivalry,  and  like  a  brutal 
boy,  he  had  reminded  her  that  she  was  to  blame  as  well  as 
he.  "  You  did  it,  too, ' '  he  told  her,  sullenly.  She  remem 
bered  that  he  had  said  he  had  not  fully  understood  that 
it  was  only  impulse  on  her  part;  "I  thought  you  cared 
for  me  a  little,  or  else  you  wouldn't  have  married  me." 
In  the  panic  of  the  moment  he  really  had  not  known  that 
he  lied,  and  in  her  absorption  in  her  own  misery  she  did 
not  contradict  him.  She  ought,  he  said,  to  make  the  best 
of  the  situation;  or  else  he  would  kill  himself.  "Do  you 
want  me  to  kill  myself  ?"  he  had  threatened.  If  she  would 
make  the  best  of  it,  he  would  help  her.  He  would  do 
whatever  she  wished;  he  would  be  her  friend,  her  ser 
vant, — until  she  should  come  to  love  him. 

"  I  shall  never  love  you,"  she  told  him. 

"I  will  always  love  you!     But  I  will  not  make  you 
unhappy.     Let  me  be  your  servant;  that's  all  I  ask." 

278 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I  love  David.     I  will  always  love  him." 

He  had  been  silent  at  that;  then  broke  again  into  a 
cry  for  mercy.  "  I  don't  care  if  you  do  love  him !  Don't 
destroy  me,  Elizabeth." 

He  had  had  still  one  other  weapon:  they  were  married. 
There  was  no  getting  round  that.  The  thing  was  done; 
except  by  Time  and  the  outrageous  scandal  of  publicity, 
it  could  not  be  undone.  But  this  weapon  he  had  not 
used,  knowing  perfectly  well  that  the  idea  of  public 
shame  would  be,  just  then,  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
Elizabeth — perhaps  even  a  satisfaction  to  her,  as  the 
sting  of  the  penitential  whip  is  a  satisfaction  to  the 
sinner.  All  he  said  was  summed  up  in  three  words: 
"Don't  destroy  me." 

There  was  no  reply.  She  had  fallen  into  a  silence 
which  frightened  him  more  than  her  words.  It  was  then 
that  he  went  out  for  that  walk  on  the  creaking  snow,  in 
the  sunshine  and  fierce  wind,  taking  the  bag  of  nuts  along 
for  the  squirrels.  Elizabeth,  alone,  her  head  on  her 
arms  on  the  table,  went  over  and  over  his  threats  and 
entreaties,  until  it  seemed  as  if  her  very  mind  was  sore. 
After  a  while,  for  sheer  weariness,  she  left  the  tangle  of 
motives  and  facts  and  obligations,  and  began  to  think  of 
David.  It  was  then  that  she  moaned  a  little  under  her 
breath. 

Twice  she  had  tried  to  write  to  him  to  tell  him  what 
had  happened.  But  each  time  she  cringed  away  from 
her  pen  and  paper.  After  all,  what  could  she  write? 
The  fact  said  all  there  was  to  say,  and  he  knew  the 
fact  by  this  time.  When  she  said  that,  her  mind, 
drawn  oy  some  horrible  curiosity,  would  begin  to  spec 
ulate  as  to  how  he  had  heard  the  fact?  Who  told 
him?  What  did  he  say?  How  did  he — and  here  she 
would  groan  aloud  in  an  effort  not  to  know  "how"  he 
took  it!  To  save  herself  from  this  speculation  which 
seemed  to  dig  into  a  grave,  and  touch  and  handle  the 
decaying  body  of  love,  she  would  plan  what  she  should 

279 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

say  to  him  when,  after  a  while,  " to-morrow,"  perhaps, 
she  should  be  able  to  take  up  her  pen:  "David, — I  was 
out  of  my  head.  Think  of  me  as  if  I  were  dead."  .  .  . 
"David, — I  don't  want  you  to  forgive  me.  I  want  you 
to  hate  me  as  I  hate  myself."  .  .  .  "David, — I  was  not 
in  my  right  mind — forgive  me.  I  love  you  just  the 
same.  But  it  is  as  if  I  were  dead."  Again  and  again  she 
had  thought  out  long,  crying,  frightened  letters  to  him; 
but  she  had  not  written  them.  And  now  she  was  be 
ginning  to  feel,  vaguely,  that  she  would  never  write 
them.  "What  is  the  use?  I  am  dead."  The  idea  of 
calling  upon  him  to  come  and  save  her,  never  occurred 
to  her.  "I  am  dead,"  she  said,  as  she  sat  there,  her 
face  hidden  in  her  arms;  "there  is  nothing  to  be  done." 
After  a  while  she  stopped  thinking  of  David  and  the 
letter  she  had  not  been  able  to  write;  it  seemed  as  if, 
when  she  tried  to  make  it  clear  to  herself  why  she  did  not 
write  to  him,  something  stopped  in  her  mind — a  cog  did 
not  catch;  the  thought  eluded  her.  When  this  hap 
pened — as  it  had  happened  again  and  again  in  these  last 
days;  she  would  fall  to  thinking,  with  vague  amaze 
ment,  that  this  irremediable  catastrophe  was  out  of  all 
proportion  to  its  cause.  It  was  monstrous  that  a  crazy 
minute  should  ruin  a  whole  life — two  whole  lives,  hers 
and  David's.  It  was  as  if  a  pebble  should  deflect  a  river 
from  its  course,  and  make  it  turn  and  overflow  a  land 
scape!  It  was  incredible  that  so  temporary  a  thing  as 
an  outbreak  of  temper  should  have  eternal  consequences. 
She  gasped,  with  her  face  buried  in  her  arms,  at  the 
realization — which  comes  to  most  of  us  poor  human 
creatures  sooner  or  later — that  sins  may  be  forgiven, 
but  their  results  remain.  As  for  sin — but  surely  that 
meaningless  madness  was  not  sin?  "It  was  insanity," 
she  said,  shivering  at  the  memory  of  that  hour  in  the 
toll-house — that  little  mad  hour,  that  brought  eternity 
with  it!  She  had  had  other  crazy  hours,  with  no  such 
weight  of  consequence.  Her  mind  went  back  over  her 

280 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

engagement :  her  love,  her  happiness — and  her  tempers. 
Well,  nothing  had  come  of  them.  David  always  under 
stood.  And  still  further  back:  her  careless,  fiery  girl 
hood — when  the  knowledge  of  her  mother's  recreancy, 
undermining  her  sense  of  responsibility  by  the  con 
doning  suggestion  of  heredity,  had  made  her  quick  to 
excuse  her  lack  of  self-control.  Her  girlhood  had  been 
full  of  those  outbreaks  of  passion,  which  she  "  couldn't 
help  ";  they  were  all  meaningless,  and  all  harmless,  too; 
at  any  rate  they  were  all  without  results  of  pain  to  her. 

Suddenly  it  seemed  to  her,  as  she  looked  across  the 
roaring  gulf  that  separated  her  from  the  past,  that  all 
her  life  had  been  just  a  sunny  slope  down  to  the  edge 
of  the  gulf.  All  those  "harmless"  tempers  which  had 
had  no  results,  had  pushed  her  to  this  result ! 

Her  poor,  bright,  shamed  head  lay  so  long  and  so  still 
on  her  folded  arms  that  one  looking  in  upon  her  might 
have  thought  her  dead.  Perhaps,  in  a  way,  Elizabeth 
did  die  then,  when  her  heart  seemed  to  break  with  the 
knowledge  that  it  is  impossible  to  escape  from  yesterday. 
"Oh,"  she  said,  brokenly,  "why  didn't  somebody  tell 
me?  Why  didn't  they  stop  me?"  But  she  did  not 
dwell  upon  the  responsibility  of  other  people.  She 
forgot  the  easy  excuse  of  'heredity.'  This  new  know 
ledge  brought  with  it  a  vision  of  her  own  responsibility 
that  filled  her  appalled  mind  to  the  exclusion  of  every 
thing  else.  It  is  not  the  pebble  that  turns  the  cur 
rent — it  is  the  easy  slope  that  invites  it.  All  her  life 
Elizabeth  had  been  inviting  this  moment;  and  the  mo 
ment,  when  it  came,  was  her  Day  of  Judgment.  What 
she  had  thought  of  as  an  incredible  injustice  of  fate  in 
letting  a  mad  instant  turn  the  scales  for  a  whole  life,  was 
merely  an  inevitable  result  of  all  that  had  preceded 
it.  When  this  fierce  and  saving  knowledge  came  to 
her,  she  thought  of  Blair.  "I  have  spoiled  my  own  life 
and  David's  life.  I  needn't  spoil  Blair's.  He  said  if  I 
-"•sft  him,  it  would  destroy  him.  .  .  .  Perhaps  if  I  stay, 

281 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

it  will  be  my  punishment.     I  can  never  be  punished 
enough." 

When  Blair  came  home,  she  was  standing  with  her 
forehead  against  the  window,  her  dry  eyes  watching  the 
dazzling  white  world. 

Coming  up  behind  her,  he  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it 
humbly.  She  turned  and  looked  at  him  with  somber 
eyes. 

"Poor  Blair,"  she  said. 

And  Blair,  under  his  breath,  said,  "Thank  God!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  coming  back  to  Mercer  some  six  weeks  later  was 
to  Blair  a  miserable  and  skulking  experience.  To  Eliza 
beth  it  was  almost  a  matter  of  indifference;  there  is  a 
shame  which  goes  too  deep  for  embarrassment.  The 
night  they  arrived  at  the  River  House,  Nannie  and  Miss 
White  were  waiting  for  them,  tearful  and  disapproving, 
of  course,  but  distinctly  excited  and  romantic.  After 
all,  Elizabeth  was  a  "bride!"  and  Cherry-pie  and  Nan 
nie  couldn't  help  being  fluttered.  Blair  listened  with 
open  amusement  to  their  half-scared  gossip  of  what 
people  thought,  and  what  the  newspapers  had  said,  and 
how  "very  displeased"  his  mother  had  been;  but  Eliza 
beth  hardly  heard  them.  At  the  end  of  the  call,  while 
Blair  was  bidding  Nannie  tell  his  mother  he  was  coming 
to  see  her  in  the  morning,  Miss  White,  kissing  her 
"lamb"  good  night,  tried  to  whisper  something  in  her 
ear:  "He  said  to  tell  you — "  "No — no — no, — I  can't 
hear  it;  I  can't  bear  it  yet!"  Elizabeth  broke  in;  she 
put  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  shivering  so  that  Cherry- 
pie  forgot  David  and  his  message,  and  even  her  child's 
bad  behavior. 

"  Elizabeth !  you've  taken  cold  ?" 

Elizabeth  drew  away,  smiling  faintly.  "No;  not  at 
all.  I'm  tired.  Please  don't  stay."  And  with  the 
message  still  unspoken,  Miss  White  and  Nannie  went  off 
together,  as  fluttering  and  frightened  as  when  they  came. 

The  newspaper  excitement  which  had  followed  the 
announcement  of  the  elopement  of  Sarah  Maitland's  son, 
had  subsided,  so  there  was  only  a  brief  notice  the  morn- 

283 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ing  after  their  arrival  in  town,  to  the  effect  that  "the 
bride  and  groom  had  returned  to  their  native  city  for  a 
short  stay  before  sailing  for  Europe."  Still,  even  though 
the  papers  were  inclined  to  let  them  alone,  it  would  be 
pleasanter,  Blair  told  his  wife,  to  go  abroad. 

"Well,"  she  said,  dully.  Elizabeth  was  always  dull 
now.  She  had  lifted  herself  up  to  the  altar,  but  there  was 
no  exaltation  of  sacrifice;  possibly  because  she  considered 
her  sacrifice  a  punishment  for  her  sin,  but  also  because 
she  was  still  physically  and  morally  stunned. 

"  Of  course  there  is  nobody  in  Mercer  for  whose  opinion 
I  care  a  copper,"  Blair  said.  They  were  sitting  in  their 
parlor  at  the  hotel;  Elizabeth  staring  out  of  the  win 
dow  at  the  river,  Blair  leaning  forward  in  his  chair, 
touching  once  in  a  while,  with  timid  fingers,  a  fold  of 
her  skirt  that  brushed  his  knee.  "Of  course  I  don't 
care  for  a  lot  of  gossiping  old  hens ;  but  it  will  be  pleas 
anter  for  you  not  to  be  meeting  people,  perhaps?"  he 
said  gently. 

There  was  only  one  person  whom  he  himself  shrank 
from  meeting — his  mother.  And  this  shrinking  was  not 
because  of  the  peculiar  shame  which  the  thought  of  Mrs. 
Richie  had  awakened  in  him  that  morning  in  the  woods, 
when  the  vision  of  her  delicate  scorn  had  been  so  unbear 
able;  his  feeling  about  his  mother  was  sheer  disgust  at 
the  prospect  of  an  interview  which  was  sure  to  be  esthet- 
ically  distressing.  While  he  was  still  absent  on  what  the 
papers  called  his  "wedding  tour,"  Nannie  had  written 
to  him  warning  him  what  he  might  expect  from  Mrs. 
M  ait  land : 

"Mamma  is  terribly  displeased,  I  am  afraid,  though 
she  hasn't  said  a  word  since  the  night  I  told  her.  Then 
she  said  very  severe  things — and  oh,  Blair,  dear,  why 
did  you  do  it  the  way  you  did?  I  think  Elizabeth  was 
perfectly — "  The  unfinished  sentence  was  scratched 
out.  "You  must  be  nice  to  Mamma  when  you  come 
home,"  she.  ended. 

284 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"She'll  kick,"  Blair  said,  sighing;  "she'll  row  like  a 
puddler!"  In  his  own  mind,  he  added  that,  after  all, 
no  amount  of  kicking  would  alter  the  fact.  And  again 
the  little  exultant  smile  came  about  his  lips.  "As  for 
being  'nice,'  Nannie  might  as  well  talk  about  being  'nice' 
to  a  circular  saw,"  he  said,  gaily.  His  efforts  to  be  gay, 
to  amuse  or  interest  Elizabeth,  were  almost  pathetic 
in  their  intensity.  "Well!  the  sooner  I'll  go,  the 
sooner  I'll  get  it  over!"  he  said,  and  reached  for  his 
hat;  Elizabeth  was  silent.  "You  might  wish  me  luck!" 
he  said.  She  did  not  answer,  and  he  sighed  and  left 
her. 

As  he  loitered  down  to  Shantytown,  lying  in  the  muddy 
drizzle  of  a  midwinter  thaw,  he  planned  how  soon  he 
could  get  away  from  the  detestable  place.  "Everything 
is  so  perfectly  hideous,"  he  said  to  himself,  "no  wonder 
she  is  low-spirited.  When  I  get  her  over  in  Europes  he'll 
forget  Mercer,  and — everything  disagreeable."  His  mind 
shied  away  from  even  the  name  of  the  man  he  had 
robbed. 

At  his  mother's  house,  he  had  a  hurried  word  with 
Nannie  in  the  parlor:  "Is  she  upset  still?  She  mustn't 
blame  Elizabeth !  It  was  all  my  doing.  I  sort  of  swept 
Elizabeth  off  her  feet,  you  know.  Well — it's  another 
case  of  getting  your  tooth  pulled  quickly.  Here  goes!" 
When  he  opened  the  dining-room  door,  his  mother  called 
to  him  from  her  bedroom:  "Come  in  here,"  she  said; 
and  there  was  something  in  her  voice  that  made  him 
brace  himself.  "  I'm  in  for  it,"  he  said,  under  his  breath. 

For  years  Sarah  Maitland's  son  had  not  seen  her 
room;  the  sight  of  it  now  was  a  curious  shock  that 
seemed  to  push  him  back  into  his  youth,  and  into  that 
old  embarrassment  which  he  had  always  felt  in  her 
presence.  The  room  was  as  it  had  been  then,  very  bare 
and  almost  squalid ;  there  was  no  carpet  on  the  floor,  and 
no  hint  of  feminine  comfort  in  a  lounge  or  even  a  soft 
chair.  That  morning  the  inside  shutters  on  the  lower 

285 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

half  of  the  uncurtained  windows  were  still  closed,  and 
the  upper  light,  striking  cold  and  bleak  across  the  dingy 
ceiling,  glimmered  on  the  glass  doors  of  the  bookcases 
behind  which,  in  his  childhood,  had  lurked  such  mysteri 
ous  terrors.  The  narrow  iron  bed  had  not  yet  been 
made  up,  and  the  bedclothes  were  in  confusion  on  the 
back  of  a  chair;  the  painted  pine  bureau  was  thick  with 
dust ;  on  it  was  the  still  unopened  cologne  bottle,  its  kid 
cover  cracked  and  yellow  under  its  faded  ribbons,  and 
three  small  photographs:  Blair,  a  baby  in  a  white  dress; 
a  little  boy  with  long  trousers  and  a  visored  cap;  a  big 
boy  of  twelve  with  a  wooden  gun.  They  were  brown 
with  time,  and  the  figures  were  almost  undistinguishable, 
but  Blair  recognized  them, — and  again  his  armor  of 
courage  was  penetrated. 

"Well,  Mother,"  he  said,  with  great  directness  and 
with  at  least  an  effort  at  heartiness,  "  I  am  afraid  you  are 
rather  disgusted  with  me." 

"Are  you?"  she  said;  she  was  sitting  sidewise  on  a 
wooden  chair — what  is  called  a  "kitchen  chair";  she 
had  rested  her  arm  along  its  back,  and  as  Blair  entered, 
her  large,  beautiful  hand,  drooping  limply  from  its  wrist, 
closed  slowly  into  an  iron  fist. 

"  No,  I  won't  sit  down,  thank  you,"  he  said,  and  stood, 
lounging  a  little,  with  an  elbow  on  the  mantelpiece. 
"Yes;  I  was  afraid  you  would  be  displeased,"  he  went 
on,  good-humoredly ;  "but  I  hope  you  won't  mind  so 
much  when  I  tell  you  about  it.  I  couldn't  really  go  into 
it  in  my  letter.  By  the  way,  I  hope  my  absence  hasn't 
inconvenienced  you  in  the  office?" 

"Well,  not  seriously,"  she  said  dryly.  And  he  felt 
the  color  rise  in  his  face.  That  he  was  frightfully  ill  at 
ease  was  obvious  in  the  elaborate  carelessness  with  which 
he  began  to  inquire  about  the  Works.  But  her  only 
answer  to  his  meaningless  questions  was  silence.  Blair 
was  conscious  that  he  was  breathing  quickly,  and  that 
made  him  angry.  "Why  am  I  such  an  ass?"  he  asked 

286 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

himself;  then  said,  with  studied  lightness,  that  he  was 
afraid  he  would  have  to  absent  himself  from  business  for 
still  a  little  longer,  as  he  was  going  abroad.  Fortunately 
— here  the  old  sarcastic  politeness  broke  into  his  really  se 
rious  purpose  to  be  respectful;  fortunately  he  was  so 
unimportant  that  his  absence  didn't  really  matter. 
"  You  are  the  Works,  you  know,  Mother." 

"You  are  certainly  unimportant,"  she  agreed.  He 
noticed  she  had  not  taken  up  her  knitting,  though  a  ball 
of  pink  worsted  and  a  half-finished  baby  sock  lay  on  the 
bureau  near  her;  this  unwonted  quiet  of  her  hands,  to 
gether  with  the  extraordinary  solemnity  of  her  face,  gave 
him  a  sense  of  uneasy  astonishment.  He  would  almost 
have  welcomed  one  of  those  brutal  outbursts  which  set 
his  teeth  on  edge  by  their  very  ugliness.  He  did  not 
know  how  to  treat  this  new  dignity. 

"I  would  like  to  tell  you  just  what  happened,"  he 
began,  with  a  seriousness  that  matched  her  own.  "Eliz 
abeth  had  made  up  her  mind  not  to  marry  David  Richie. 
They  had  had  some  falling  out,  I  believe.  I  never  asked 
what;  of  course  that  wasn't  my  business.  Well,  I  had 
been  in  love  with  her  for  months;  but  I  didn't  suppose  I 
had  a  ghost  of  a  chance ;  of  course  I  wouldn  't  have  dreamed 
of  trying  to — to  take  her  from  him.  But  when  she  broke 
with  him,  why,  I  felt  that  I  had  a — a  right,  you  know." 

His  mother  was  silent,  but  she  struck  the  back  of  her 
chair  softly  with  her  closed  fist:  her  eyebrow  began  to 
lift  ominously. 

"Well;  we  thought— I  mean  I  thought;  that  the 
easiest  way  all  round  was  to  get  married  at  once.  Not 
discuss  it,  you  know,  with  people;  but  just — well,  in 
point  of  fact,  I  persuaded  her  to  run  off  with  me!"  He 
tried  to  laugh,  but  his  mother's  face  was  rigid.  She  was 
looking  at  him  closely,  but  she  said  nothing.  By  this 
time  her  continued  silence  had  made  him  so  nervous 
that  he  went  through  his  explanation  again  from  begin 
ning  to  end.  Still  she  did  not  speak. 
19  287 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"You  see,  Mother,"  he  said,  reddening  with  the  dis 
comfort  of  the  moment,  "you  see  it  was  best  to  do  it 
quickly?  Elizabeth's  engagement  being  broken,  there 
was  no  reason  to  wait.  But  I  do  regret  that  I  could  not 
have  told  you  first.  I  fear  you  felt — annoyed.'* 

"Annoyed?"  For  a  moment  she  smiled.  "Well,  I 
should  hardly  call  it  'annoyed.' "  Suddenly  she  made  a 
gesture  with  her  hand,  as  if  to  say,  stop  all  this  non 
sense!  " Blair,"  she  said,  "I'm  not  going  to  go  into  this 
business  of  your  marriage  at  all.  It's  done."  Blair  drew 
a  breath  of  astonished  relief.  "You've  not  only  done  a 
wicked  thing,  which  is  bad;  you've  done  a  fool  thing, 
which  is  worse.  I  have  some  sort  of  patience  with  a 
knave,  but  a  fool — 'annoys'  me,  as  you  express  it. 
You've  married  a  girl  who  loves  another  man.  You 
may  or  may  not  repent  your  wickedness — you  and  I 
have  different  ideas  on  such  subjects;  but  you'll  certainly 
repent  your  foolishness.  When  you  are  eaten  up  with 
jealousy  of  David,  you'll  wish  you  had  behaved  decent 
ly.  I  know  what  I'm  talking  about " — she  paused,  look 
ing  down  at  her  fingers  picking  nervously  at  the  back  of 
the  chair;  "I've  been  jealous,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 
Then,  with  a  quick  breath :  "  However,  wicked  or  foolish, 
or  both,  it's  done,  and  I'm  not  going  to  waste  my  time 
talking  about  it." 

"You're  very  kind,"  he  said;  he  was  so  bewildered 
by  this  unexpected  mildness  that  he  could  not  think 
what  to  say  next.  "I  very  much  appreciate  your 
overlooking  my  not  telling  you  about  it  before  I  did  it. 
The — the  fact  was,"  he  began  to  stammer;  her  face  was 
not  reassuring;  "the  fact  was,  it  was  all  so  hurried,  I — " 

But  she  was  not  listening.  "  You  say  you  mean  to  go 
to  Europe;  how?" 

"How?"  he  repeated.  "I  don't  know  just  what  you 
mean.  Of  course  I  shall  be  sorry  to  leave  the  Works, 
but  under  the  circumstances — " 

' '  It  costs  money  to  go  to  Europe .  Have  you  got  any  ? ' ' 
288 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"My  salary — " 

"How  can  you  have  a  salary  when  you  don't  do  any 
work?" 

Blair  was  silent;  then  he  said,  frowning,  something 
about  his  mother's  always  having  been  so  kind — 

"  Kind  ?"  she  broke  in,  "  you  call  it  kind  ?  Well,  Blair, 
I  am  going  to  be  kind  now — another  way.  So  far  as  I'm 
concerned,  you'll  not  have  one  dollar  that  you  don't 
earn." 

He  looked  perfectly  uncomprehending. 

"  I've  done  being  '  kind,'  in  the  way  that's  ruined  you, 
and  made  you  a  useless  fool.  I'm  going  to  try  another 
sort  of  kindness.  You  can  work,  my  son,  or  you  can 
starve."  Her  face  quivered  as  she  spoke. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  Blair  said,  quietly;  his  em 
barrassment  fell  from  him  like  a  slipping  cloak;  he  was 
suddenly  and  ruthlessly  a  man. 

She  told  him  what  she  meant.  "  This  business  of  your 
marrying  Elizabeth  isn't  the  important  thing;  that's 
just  a  symptom  of  your  disease.  It's  the  fact  of  your 
being  the  sort  of  man  you  are,  that's  important."  Blair 
was  silent.  Then  Sarah  Maitland  began  her  statement 
of  the  situation  as  she  saw  it;  she  told  him  just  what 
sort  of  a  man  he  was:  indolent,  useless,  helpless,  selfish. 
"Until  now  I've  always  said  that  at  any  rate  you  were 
harmless.  I  can't  say  even  that  now!"  She  tried  to 
explain  that  when  a  man  lives  on  money  he  has  not 
earned,  he  incurs,  by  merely  living,  a  debt  of  honor; — 
that  God  will  collect.  But  she  did  not  know  how  to 
say  it.  Instead,  she  told  him  he  was  a  parasite; — which 
loathsome  truth  was  like  oil  on  the  flames  of  his 
slowly  gathering  rage.  He  was  a  man,  she  said,  whose 
business  in  life  was  to  enjoy  himself.  She  tried  to  make 
clear  to  him  that  after  youth, — perhaps  even  after 
childhood, — enjoyment,  as  the  purpose  of  effort,  was 
dwarfing.  "You  are  sort  of  a  dwarf,  Blair,"  she  said, 
with  curiously  impersonal  brutality.  Any  enjoyment, 

289 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

she  insisted,  that  was  worthy  of  a  man,  was  only  a 
by-product,  as  you  might  call  it,  of  effort  for  some 
other  purpose  than  enjoyment.  "One  of  our  pud- 
dlers  enjoys  doing  a  good  job,  I  guess; — but  that  isn't 
why  he  does  it,"  she  said,  shrewdly,  Any  man  whose 
sole  effort  was  to  get  pleasure  is,  considering  what 
kind  of  a  world  we  live  in,  a  poor  creature.  "That's 
the  best  that  can  be  said  for  him,"  she  said;  "as 
for  the  worst,  we  won't  go  into  that.  You  know  it 
even  better  than  I  do."  Then  she  told  him  that  his 
best,  which  had  been  harmlessness,  and  his  worst, 
which  they  "would  not  go  into" — were  both  more  her 
fault  than  his.  It  was  her  fault  that  he  was  such  a  poor 
creature;  "a  pithless  creature;  I've  made  you  so!"  she 
said.  She  stopped,  her  face  moving  with  emotion. 
"I've  robbed  you  of  incentive;  I  see  that  now.  Any 
man  who  has  the  need  of  work  taken  away  from  him,  is 
robbed.  I  guess  enjoyment  is  all  that  is  left  for  him. 
I  ask  your  pardon."  Her  humility  was  pitiful,  but  her 
words  were  outrageous.  "  You  are  young  yet,"  she  said; 
"I  think  what  I  am  going  to  do  will  cure  you.  If  it 
doesn't,  God  knows  what  will  become  of  you!"  It  was 
the  cure  of  the  surgeon's  knife,  ruthless,  radical;  it  was, 
in  fact,  kill  or  cure;  she  knew  that.  "Of  course  it's 
a  gamble,"  she  admitted,  and  paused,  nibbling  at  her 
finger;  "a  gamble.  But  I've  got  to  take  it."  She 
spoke  of  it  as  she  might  of  some  speculative  business 
decision.  She  looked  at  him  as  if  imploring  comprehen 
sion,  but  she  had  to  speak  as  she  thought,  with  sledge 
hammer  directness.  "  It  takes  brains  to  make  money — 
I  know  because  I've  made  it;  but  any  fool  can  inherit  it, 
just  as  any  fool  can  accept  it.  I'm  going  to  give 
you  a  chance  to  develop  some  brains.  You  can  work 
or  you  can  starve.  Or,"  she  added  simply,  "you  can 
beg.  You  have  begged  practically  all  your  life,  thanks 
to  me." 

If  only  she  could  have  said  it  all  differently!     But 

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THE    IRON    WOMAN 

alas!  yearning  over  him  with  agonized  consciousness  of 
her  own  wrong-doing,  and  with  singular  justice  in  regard 
to  his,  she  approached  his  selfish  heart  as  if  it  were  one 
of  her  own  "blooms,"  and  she  a  great  engine  which  could 
mold  and  squeeze  it  into  something  of  value  to  the 
world.  She  flung  her  iron  facts  at  him,  regardless  of  the 
bruises  they  must  leave  upon  that  most  precious  thing, 
his  self-respect.  Well ;  she  was  going  to  stop  her  work  of 
destruction,  she  said.  Then  she  told  him  how  she  pro 
posed  to  do  it:  he  had  had  everything — and  he  was 
nothing.  Now  he  should  have  nothing,  so  that  he  might 
become  something. 

There  was  a  day,  many  years  ago,  when  this  mother 
and  son,  standing  together,  had  looked  at  the  fierce 
beauty  of  molten  iron;  then  she  had  told  him  of  high 
things  hidden  in  the  seething  and  shimmering  metal — 
of  dreams  to  be  realized,  of  splendid  toils,  of  vast  am 
bitions.  And  as  she  spoke,  a  spark  of  vivid  understand 
ing  had  leaped  from  his  mind  to  hers.  Now,  her  iron 
will,  melted  by  the  fires  of  love,  was  seething  and  glowing, 
dazzlingly  bright  in  the  white  heat  of  complete  self- 
renunciation  ;  it  was  ready  to  be  poured  into  a  torturing 
mold  to  make  a  tool  with  which  he  might  save  his  soul ! 
But  no  spark  of  understanding  came  into  his  angry  eyes. 
She  did  not  pause  for  that ;  his  agreement  was  a  secon 
dary  matter.  The  habit  of  success  made  her  believe  that 
she  could  achieve  the  impossible — namely,  save  a  man's 
soul  in  spite  of  himself;  "make,"  as  she  had  told  Robert 
Ferguson,  "a  man  of  her  son."  She  would  have  been 
glad  to  have  his  agreement,  but  she  would  not  wait 
for  it. 

Blair  listened  in  absolute  silence.  "Do  I  under 
stand,"  he  said  when  she  had  finished,  "that  you  mean 
to  disinherit  me?" 

"  I  mean  to  give  you  the  finest  inheritance  a  young 
man  can  have :  the  necessity  for  work ! — and  work  for  the 
necessity.  For,  of  course,  your  job  is  open  to  you  in  the 

291 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

office.  But  it  will  be  at  an  honest  salary  after  this ;  the 
salary  any  other  unskilled  man  would  get." 

"Please  make  yourself  clear,"  he  said  laconically; 
"you  propose  to  leave  me  no  money  when  you  die?" 

"Exactly." 

"May  I  ask  how  you  expect  me  to  live?" 

"The  way  most  decent  men  live — by  work.  You  can 
work;  or  else,  as  I  said,  you  can  starve.  There's  a  verse 
in  the  Bible — you  don't  know  your  Bible  very  well;  per 
haps  that's  one  reason  you  have  turned  out  as  you  have; 
but  there's  a  verse  in  the  Bible  that  says  if  a  man  won't 
work,  he  sha'n't  eat.  That's  the  best  political  economy 
I  know.  But  I  never  thought  of  it  before,"  she  said 
simply;  "I  never  realized  that  the  worst  handicap  a 
young  man  can  have  in  starting  out  in  life  is  a  rich 
father — or  mother.  Ferguson  used  to  tell  me  so,  but 
somehow  I  never  took  it  in." 

"So,"  he  said — he  was  holding  his  cane  in  both  hands, 
and  as  he  spoke  he  struck  it  across  his  knees,  breaking  it 
with  a  splintering  snap ;  "so,  you'll  disinherit  me  because 
I  married  the  girl  I  love?" 

"No!"  she  said,  eager  to  make  herself  clear;  "no,  not 
at  all!  Don't  you  understand?  (My  God!  how  can  I 
make  him  understand?)  I  disinherit  you  to  make  a 
man  of  you,  so  that  your  father  won't  be  ashamed  of 
you — as  I  am.  Yes,  I  owe  it  to  your  father  to  make  a 
man  of  you;  if  it  can  be  done." 

She  rose,  with  a  deep  breath,  and  stood  for  an  instant 
silent,  her  big  hands  on  her  hips,  her  head  bent.  Then, 
solemnly:  "That  is  all;  you  may  go,  my  son." 

Blair  got  on  to  his  feet  with  a  loud  laugh — a  laugh 
singularly  like  her  own.  "Well,"  he  said,  "Iwillgol 
And  I'll  never  come  back.  This  lets  me  out!  You've 
thrown  me  over:  I'll  throw  you  over.  I  think  the  law 
will  have  something  to  say  to  this  disinheritance  idea  of 
yours;  but  until  then — take  a  job  in  your  Works?  I'll 
starve  first!  .So  help  me  God,  I'll  forget  that  you  are  my 

292 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

mother;  it  will  be  easy  enough,  for  the  only  womanly 
thing  about  you  is  your  dress" — she  winced,  and  flung 
her  hand  across  her  face  as  if  he  had  struck  her.  "  If  I 
can  forget  that  I  am  your  son,  starvation  will  be  a  cheap 
price.  We've  always  hated  each  other,  and  it's  a  relief 
to  come  out  into  the  open  and  say  so.  No  more  gush  for 
either  of  us!"  He  actually  looked  like  her,  as  he  hurled 
his  insults  at  her.  He  picked  up  his  coat  and  left  the 
room;  he  was  trembling  all  over. 

She,  too,  began  to  tremble;  she  looked  after  him  as 
he  slammed  the  door,  half  rose,  bent  over  and  lifted  the 
splintered  pieces  of  his  cane ;  then  sat  down,  as  if  sud 
denly  weak.  She  put  her  hands  over  her  face;  there 
was  a  broken  sound  from  behind  them. 

That  night  she  came  into  Nannie's  parlor  and  told 
her,  briefly,  that  she  meant  to  disinherit  Blair.  She  even 
tried  to  explain  why,  according  to  her  judgment,  she 
must  do  so.  But  Nannie,  appalled  and  crying,  was 
incapable  of  understanding. 

"Oh,  Mamma,  don't — don't  say  such  things!  Tell 
Blair  you  take  it  back.  You  don't  mean  it;  I  know  you 
don't!  Disinherit  Blair?  Oh,  it  isn't  fair!  Mamma, 
please  forgive  him,  please — please — " 

"My  dear,"  said  Sarah  Maitland  patiently,  "it  isn't 
a  question  of  forgiving  Blair;  I'm  too  busy  trying  to 
forgive  myself."  Nannie  looked  at  her  in  bewilderment. 
"Well,  well,  we  won't  go  into  that,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland; 
"you  wouldn't  understand.  What  I  came  over  to  say, 
especially,  was  that  if  things  can  go  back  into  the  old 
ways  I  shall  be  glad.  I  reckon  Blair  won't  want  to  see 
me  for  a  while,  but  if  Elizabeth  will  come  to  the  house 
as  she  used  to,  I  sha'n't  rake  up  unpleasant  subjects. 
She  is  your  brother's  wife,  and  shall  be  treated  with 
respect  in  my  house.  Tell  her  so.  'Night." 

But  Nannie,  with  a  soft  rush  across  the  room,  darted 
in  front  of  her  and  stood  with  her  back  against  the  door, 

293 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

panting.  " Mamma!  Wait.  You  must  listen  to  me!" 
Her  stepmother  paused,  looking  at  her  with  mild  aston 
ishment.  She  was  like  another  creature,  a  little  wild 
creature  standing  at  bay  to  protect  its  young.  "You 
have  no  right,"  Nannie  said  sternly,  "you  have  no  right, 
Mother,  to  treat  Blair  so.  Listen  to  me:  it  was  not — 
not  nice  in  him  to  run  away  with  Elizabeth ;  I  know  that, 
though  I  think  it  was  more  her  fault  than  his.  But  it 
wasn't  wicked!  He  loved  her." 

"My  dear,  I  haven't  said  it  was  wicked,"  Blair's 
mother  tried  to  explain;  "in  fact,  I  don't  think  it  was; 
it  wasn't  big  enough  to  be  wicked.  No,  it  was  only  a 
dirty,  contemptible  trick."  Nannie  cringed  back,  her 
hand  gripping  the  knob  behind  her.  "If  Blair  had  been 
a  hard-working  man,  knocking  up  against  other  hard 
working  men,  trying  to  get  food  for  his  belly  and  clothes 
for  his  nakedness,  he'd  have  been  ashamed  to  play  such 
a  trick — he'd  have  been  a  man.  If  I  had  loved  him 
more  I'd  have  made  a  man  of  him;  I'd  have  made  work 
real  to  him,  not  make-believe,  as  I  did.  And  I  wouldn't 
have  been  ashamed  of  him,  as  I  am  now." 

"I  think,"  said  Nannie,  with  one  of  those  flashes  of 
astuteness  so  characteristic  of  the  simple  mind,  "that  a 
man  would  fall  in  love  just  as  much  if  he  were  poor  as 
if  he  were  rich;  and — and  you  ought  to  forgive  him, 
Mamma." 

Mrs.  Maitland  half  smiled :  "I  guess  there's  no  making 
you  understand,  Nannie;  you  are  like  your  own  mother. 
Come!  Open  this  door!  I've  got  to  go  to  work." 

But  Nannie  still  stood  with  her  hand  gripping  the 
knob.  "I  must  tell  you,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice; 
"I  must  not  be  untruthful  to  you,  Mamma:  I  will  give 
Blair  all  I  have  myself.  The  money  my  father  left  me 
shall  be  his;  and — and  everything  I  may  ever  have 
shall  be  his."  Then  she  seemed  to  melt  away  before 
her  stepmother,  and  the  door  banged  softly  between  them. 

"Poor  little  soul!"  Sarah  Maitland  said  to  herself, 

294 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

smiling,  as  she  sat  down  at  her  desk  in  the  dining-room. 
"Exactly  like  her  mother!  I  must  give  her  a  present." 

The  next  day  she  sent  for  her  general  manager  and 
told  him  what  course  she  had  taken  with  her  son.  He 
was  silent  for  a  moment;  then  he  said,  with  an  effort, 
"  I  have  no  reason  to  plead  Blair's  cause,  but  you're  not 
fair,  you  know." 

"So  Nannie  has  informed  me,"  she  said  dryly.  Then 
she  leaned  back  in  her  chair  and  tapped  her  desk  with 
one  big  finger.  "Go  on;  say  what  you  like.  It  won't 
move  me  one  hair." 

Robert  Ferguson  said  a  good  deal.  He  pointed  out 
that  she  had  no  right,  having  crippled  Blair,  to  tell  him 
to  run  a  race.  "  You've  made  him  what  he  is.  Well,  it's 
done;  it  can't  be  undone.  But  you  are  rushing  to  the 
other  extreme;  you  needn't  leave  him  millions,  of 
course;  but  leave  him  a  reasonable  fortune." 

She  meditated.  "Perhaps  a  very  small  allowance, 
in  fact,  to  make  my  will  sound  I  may  have  to.  I  must 
find  out  about  that.  But  while  I'm  alive,  not  one  cent. 
I  never  expected  to  be  glad  his  father  died  before  he 
was  born,  and  so  didn't  leave  him  anything,  but  I  am. 
No,  sir;  my  son  can  earn  what  he  wants  or  he  can  go 
without.  I've  got  to  do  my  best  to  make  up  to  him 
for  all  the  harm  I've  done  him,  and  this  is  the  way  to  do 
it.  Now,  the  next  thing  is  to  make  my  will  sound.  He 
says  he'll  contest  it" — she  gave  her  grunt  of  amusement. 
"Pity  I  can't  see  him  do  it!  I'd  like  the  fun  of  it.  It 
will  be  cast-iron.  If  there  was  any  doubt  about  it,  I 
would  realize  on  every  security  I  own  to-morrow  and 
give  it  all  away  in  one  lump,  now,  while  I'm  alive — if  I 
had  to  go  hungry  myself  afterward !  Will  you  ask  Howe 
and  Marston  to  send  their  Mr.  Marston  up  here  to  draw  up 
a  new  will  for  me  ?  I  want  to  go  to  work  on  it  to-night. 
I've  thought  it  out  pretty  clearly,  but  it's  a  big  job,  a  big 
job!  I  don't  know  myself  exactly  how  much  I'm  worth 
— how  much  I'd  clean  up  to,  at  any  rate.  But  I've 

295 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

got  a  list  of  charities  on  my  desk  as  long  as  your  arm. 
Nannie  will  be  the  residuary  legatee;  she  has  some 
money  from  her  father,  too,  though  not  very  much. 
The  Works  didn't  amount  to  much  when  my  husband 
was  alive ;  he  divided  his  share  between  Nannie  and  me ; 
he — ";  she  paused,  reddening  faintly  with  that  strange 
delicacy  that  lay  hidden  under  the  iron  exterior;  "he 
didn't  know  Blair  was  coming  along.  Well,  I  sup 
pose  Nannie  will  give  Blair  something.  In  fact,  she 
as  good  as  warned  me.  Think  of  Nannie  giving  me 
notice!  But  as  I  say,  she  won't  have  any  too  much 
herself.  And,  Mr.  Ferguson,  I  want  to  tell  you  some 
thing:  I'm  going  to  give  David  some  money  now.  I 
mean  in  a  year  or  two.  A  lot." 

Robert  Ferguson's  face  darkened.  "David  doesn't 
take  money  very  easily." 

Mrs.  Maitland  did  not  ask  him  to  explain.  She  was 
absorbed  in  the  most  tremendous  venture  of  her  life — 
the  saving  of  her  son,  and,  her  plan  for  David  was  com 
paratively  unimportant.  She  put  through  the  business  of 
her  will  with  extraordinary  despatch  and  precision,  and 
with  a  ruthlessness  toward  Blair  that  took  her  lawyer's 
breath  away;  but  she  would  not  hear  one  word  of  protest. 

"Your  business,  sir,  is  to  see  that  this  instrument  is 
unbreakable,"  she  said,  "not  to  tell  me  how  to  leave  my 
money." 

The  day  after  the  will  was  executed  she  went  to 
Philadelphia.  "I  am  going  to  see  David,"  she  told  her 
general  superintendent;  "I  want  to  get  this  affair  off 
my  mind  so  I  can  settle  down  to  my  work,  but  I've 
got  to  square  things  up  first  with  him.  You'll  have  to 
run  the  shop  while  I'm  off!" 

She  had  written  to  David  briefly,  without  preface  or 
apology : 

"DEAR  DAVID, — Come  and  see  me  at  the  Girard 
House  Tuesday  morning  at  7.45  o'clock." 

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CHAPTER  XXV 

NEARLY  two  months  had  passed  since  that  dreadful 
day  when  David  Richie  had  gone  to  his  mother  to  be 
comforted.  In  his  journey  back  across  the  mountains 
his  mind  and  body  were  tense  with  anticipation  of  the 
letter  which  he  was  confident  was  awaiting  him  in  Phila 
delphia.  He  was  too  restless  to  lie  down  in  his  berth. 
Once  he  went  into  the  day  coach  and  wandered  up 
and  down  the  aisle  between  the  rows  of  huddled  and  un 
comfortable  humanity.  Sometimes  a  sleepy  passenger, 
hunched  up  on  a  plush  seat,  would  swear  at  him  for 
jostling  a  protruding  foot,  and  once  a  drearily  crying 
baby,  propped  against  a  fat  and  sleeping  mother, 
clutched  with  dirty  ringers  at  his  coat.  At  that  little 
feeble  pull  he  stopped  and  looked  down  at  the  small, 
wabbling  head,  then  bent  over  and  lifted  the  child, 
straightening  its  rumpled  clothes  and  cuddling  it  against 
his  shoulder.  The  baby  gurgled  softly  in  his  ear — and 
instantly  he  remembered  the  baby  he  had  seen  on  the  raft 
the  night  that  he  first  knew  he  was  in  love  with  Eliza 
beth.  When  he  went  back  to  the  smoking-compartment 
and  sat  down,  his  hands  deep  in'his  pockets,  his  head 
sunk  between  his  shoulders,  his  hat  pulled  down  over  his 
eyes,  he  thought  of  that  raft  baby  and  wondered  if  it 
were  alive.  But  such  thoughts  were  only  in  the  moments 
when  his  bruised  mind  could  not  steady  itself  on  what 
had  happened  to  him.  Most  of  the  time  he  was  saying, 
over  and  over,  just  what  he  was  going  to  do  the  next  morn 
ing:  he  would  get  into  the  station;  take  a  cab;  drive  to 
the  hospital — a  dozen  times  that  night  his  thumb  and 

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THE    IRON    WOMAN 

finger  sought  his  waistcoat  pocket  for  a  bill  to  hasten  the 
driver  of  that  cab!  leap  out,  run  up  the  stairs  to  the 
mail-rack  beside  the  receiving  clerk's  desk,  seize  Eliza 
beth's  letter — here  the  pause  would  come,  the  moment 
when  his  body  relaxed,  and  something  seemed  to  melt 
within  him:  suppose  the  letter  was  not  there?  Very 
well:  back  to  the  cab!  another  tip;  hurry!  hurry! 
hurry!  His  mother's  house,  the  steps,  his  key  in  the 
lock — again  and  again  his  fingers  closed  on  the  key-ring 
in  his  pocket !  letters  on  the  hall  table  awaiting  him — her 
letter.  Then  again  the  relaxing  shock :  suppose  it  was  not 
there  ?  The  thought  turned  him  sick ;  after  the  almost 
physical  recoil  from  it,  came  brief  moments  of  longing 
for  his  mother's  tender  arms,  or  the  remembrance  of  that 
baby  on  the  raft.  But  almost  immediately  his  mind 
would  return  to  the  treadmill  of  expectation ;  get  into 
the  station — take  a  cab — rush —  So  it  went,  on  and 
on,  until,  toward  dawn,  through  sheer  exhaustion  he 
slept. 

That  next  day  was  never  very  clear  in  David's  mem 
ory.  Only  one  fact  stood  out  distinctly  in  the  mists: 
there  was  no  letter.  Afterward,  when  he  tried  to  recall 
that  time  of  discovering  that  she  had  not  written,  he 
was  confused  by  the  vision  of  his  mother  smiling  down 
at  him  from  the  head  of  the  stairs  and  calling  to  an  un 
seen  maid,  "Bring  the  doctor  a  cup  of  coffee,  Mary!" 
He  could  remember  that  he  stood  sorting  out  the  letters 
on  the  hall  table,  running  them  over  swiftly,  then  going 
through  them  slowly,  one  by  one,  scanning  each  address, 
each  post-mark;  then,  with  shaking  hands,  shuffling  and 
sorting  them  like  a  pack  of  cards,  and  going  through 
them  again.  She  had  not  written.  He  could  remember 
that  he  heard  the  blood  beating  in  his  ears,  and  at  the 
same  time  his  mother's  voice:  "  Bring  the  doctor  a  cup 
of  coffee."  .  .  .  She  had  not  written. 

For  months  afterward,  when  he  tried  to  recall  that 
morning,  the  weak  feeling  in  his  knees,  the  way  the 

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THE    IRON    WOMAN 

letters  that  were  not  from  her  shook  in  his  hand,  the 
sound  of  his  mother's  joyous  voice — these  things  would 
come  into  his  mind  together.  They  were  all  he  could 
remember  of  the  whole  day;  the  day  when  the  grave 
closed  over  his  youth. 

After  that  came  hours  of  expectation,  of  telegrams 
back  and  forth:  "Have  you  heard  where  they  are?" 
And:  "No  news."  Weeks  of  letters  between  Robert 
Ferguson  and  his  mother:  "It  is  what  I  have  always 
said,  she  is  her  mother's  daughter."  And:  "Oh,  don't 
be  so  hard  on  her  —  and  on  her  poor,  bad  mother. 
Find  out  where  she  is,  and  go  and  see  her."  And:  "I 
will  never  see  her.  I'm  done  with  her."  But  among 
all  the  letters,  never  any  letter  from  Elizabeth  to 
David. 

In  those  first  days  he  seemed  to  live  only  when  the 
mail  arrived ;  but  his  passion  of  expectation  was  speech 
less.  Indeed  his  inarticulateness  was  a  bad  factor  when 
it  came  to  recovery  from  the  blow  that  had  been  dealt 
him.  At  the  moment  when  the  wound  was  new,  he  had 
talked  to  his  mother;  but  almost  immediately  he  re 
treated  into  silence.  And  in  silence  the  worst  things  in  his 
nature  began  to  grow.  Once  he  tried  to  write  to  Eliza 
beth;  the  letter  commenced  with  frantic  directions  to 
come  to  his  mother  "at  once!"  Then  his  pen  faltered: 
perhaps  she  did  not  care  to  come?  Perhaps  she  did 
not  wish  to  leave  "him"? — and  the  unfinished  letter 
was  flung  into  the  fire.  With  suspicion  of  Elizabeth 
came  a  contemptuous  distrust  of  human  nature  in  general, 
and  a  shrinking  self-consciousness,  both  entirely  foreign 
to  him.  He  was  not  only  crushed  by  loss,  but  he  was 
stinging  with  the  organic  mortification  of  the  man  who 
has  not  been  able  to  keep  his  woman.  It  was  then  that 
Helena  Richie  first  noticed  a  harshness  in  him  that 
frightened  her,  and  a  cynical  individualism  that  began 
to  create  its  own  code  of  morals,  or  at  any  rate  of  re 
sponsibilities.  But  before  he  shut  himself  into  all  this 

299 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

misery,  not  only  of  loss,  but  of  suspicion  and  humilia 
tion,  he  did  say  one  thing: 

"I'm  not  going  to  howl;  you  needn't  be  afraid.  I 
shall  do  my  work.  You  won't  hear  me  howl."  There 
were  times  when  she  wished  he  would!  She  wished  it 
especially  when  Robert  Ferguson  wrote  that  Elizabeth 
and  Blair  were  going  to  return  to  Mercer,  that  they 
would  live  at  the  River  House,  and  that  it  was  evident 
that  the  "annulment,"  to  which  at  first  David's  mind 
had  turned  so  incessantly,  was  not  being  thought  of.  "I 
understand  from  Miss  White  (of  course  I  haven't  heard 
from  or  written  to  Mrs.  Blair  Maitland)  that  she  does  not 
wish  to  take  any  steps  for  a  separation,"  Elizabeth's 
uncle  wrote. 

"He  must  see  her  when  she  gets  back,"  Helena  Richie 
said,  softly;  but  David  said  nothing  at  all.  At  that 
moment  his  suspicion  became  a  certainty; — yes,  she  had 
loved  the  fellow!  It  had  been  something  else  than  one 
of  her  fits  of  fury!  It  had  been  love.  ...  No  wonder, 
with  this  poison  working  in  him,  that  he  shut  even  his 
mother  out  of  his  heart.  At  times  the  pitying  tenderness 
of  her  eyes  was  intolerable  to  him;  he  thought  he  saw 
the  same  pity  in  everybody's  eyes;  he  felt  sure  that 
every  casual  acquaintance  was  thinking  of  what  had 
happened  to  him:  he  said  to  himself  he  wished  to  God 
people  would  mind  their  business,  and  let  him  mind  his! 
"I'm  not  howling,"  he  told  himself.  He  was  like  a  man 
whose  skin  has  been  taken  off;  he  winced  at  everything, 
but  all  the  same,  he  did  his  work  in  the  hospital  with 
exhausting  thoroughness ;  to  be  sure  he  gave  his  patients 
nothing  but  technical  care.  Whether  they  lived  or  died 
was  nothing  to  David ;  whether  he  himself  lived  or  died 
was  still  less  to  him — except,  perhaps,  that  in  his  own 
case  he  had  a  preference.  But  work  is  the  only  real  seda 
tive  for  grief,  and  the  suffering  man  worked  himself 
callous,  so  he  had  dull  moments  of  forgetfulness,  or  at 
any  rate  of  comparative  indifference.  Yet  when  he 

30Q 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

received  that  note  from  Mrs.  Maitland  summoning  him  to 
her  hotel  he  flinched  under  the  callousness.  However, 
at  a  little  before  eight  o'clock  on  Tuesday  morning,  he 
knocked  at  her  bedroom  door. 

The  Girard  House  knew  Sarah  Maitland's  eccentricities 
as  well  as  her  credit ;  she  always  asked  for  a  cheap  room, 
and  was  always  put  up  under  the  roof.  She  had  never 
learned  to  use  her  money  for  her  own  comfort,  so  it  never 
occurred  to  her  to  have  a  parlor  for  herself;  her  infre 
quent  callers  were  always  shown  up  here  to  the  top  of  the 
house. 

On  this  especial  morning  she  had  come  directly  from 
the  train,  and  when  David  arrived  she  was  pacing  up  and 
down  the  narrow  room,  haggard  and  disheveled  from  a 
night  in  the  sleeping-car;  she  had  not  even  taken  off  her 
bonnet.  She  turned  at  his  step  and  stopped  short  in  her 
tracks — he  was  so  thin,  so  grim,  so  old!  "Well,  David," 
she  said;  then  hesitated,  for  there  was  just  an  instant's 
recoil  in  David.  He  had  not  realized  the  fury  that  would 
leap  up  and  scorch  him  like  a  flame  at  the  sight  of  Blair's 
mother. 

"David,  you'll — you'll  shake  hands  with  me,  won't 
you?"  she  said  timidly.  At  the  sound  of  her  voice  his 
anger  died  out;  only  the  cold  ashes  of  misery  were  left. 

"Why,  Mrs.  Maitland!"  he  protested,  and  took  her 
big,  beautiful,  unsteady  hand  in  both  of  his. 

For  a  moment  neither  of  them  spoke.  It  was  a  dark, 
cold  morning;  far  below  them  stretched  the  cheerless 
expanse  of  snow-covered  roofs ;  from  countless  chimneys 
smoke  was  rising  heavily  to  the  lowering  sky,  and  soot 
was  sifting  down;  the  snow  on  the  window-sill  was 
speckled  with  black.  Below,  in  the  courtyard  of  the 
hotel,  ice-carts  rumbled  in  and  out,  and  milk-cans  were 
banged  down  on  the  cobblestones ;  a  dull  day,  an  empty 
sky,  a  futile  interview,  up  here  in  this  wretched  little 
room  under  the  eaves.  David  wondered  how  soon  he 
could  get  away. 

301 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"David,"  Mrs.  Maitland  said,  "I  know  I  can't  make 
it  up  to  you  in  any  way.  But  I'd  like  to." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  he  said  coldly,  "but  we  won't 
go  into  that,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Maitland." 

"No,  we  won't  talk  about  it,"  she  said,  with  evident 
relief;  "but  David,  I  came  to  Philadelphia  to  say  that  I 
want  you  to  let  me  be  of  help  to  you  in  some  way." 

"Help  to  me?"  he  repeated,  surprised.  "I  really 
don't  see — " 

"Why,"  she  explained,  "you  want  to  begin  to  prac 
tise;  you  don't  want  to  drudge  along  at  a  hospital  under 
some  big  man's  thumb.  I  want  to  set  you  up !" 

David  smiled  involuntarily.  "But  the  hospital  is  my 
greatest  chance,  Mrs.  Maitland.  I'm  lucky  to  have  these 
three  years  there.  But  it's  kind  in  you  to  think  of  giving 
me  a  hand." 

"Nonsense!"  she  said,  quite  missing  the  force  of  what 
he  said.  "You  ought  to  put  out  your  own  shingle. 
David,  you  can  have  all  the  money  you  need;  it's 
yours  to  take." 

David  started  as  if  she  had  struck  him :  "yours  to  take." 
Oh,  that  had  been  said  to  him  before!  "No,  I  can't, 
I  couldn't  take  money!  You  don't  understand.  I 
couldn't  take  money  from — anybody!"  he  said  with  a 
gasp. 

She  looked  at  him  helplessly,  then  stretched  out  her 
empty  hands.  "David,"  she  said  pitifully,  "money  is 
all  I've  got.  Won't  you  take  it?"  The  tears  were  on 
her  cheeks  and  the  big,  empty  hands  shook.  "  I  haven't 
got  anything  but  money,  David,"  she  entreated. 

His  face  quivered;  he  said  some  broken,  protesting 
word;  then  suddenly  he  put  his  arms  round  her  and 
kissed  her.  Her  gray  head,  in  the  battered  old  bon 
net,  rested  a  moment  on  his  shoulder,  and  he  felt  her 
sob.  "Oh,  David,"  she  said,  "what  shall  I  do?  He — 
he  hates  me.  He  said  the  only  womanly  thing  about 
me  was  ...  Oh,  can  I  make  a  man  of  him.  do  you 

302 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

think?"  She  entirely  forgot  David's  wrongs  in  her  cry 
for  comfort,  a  cry  that  somehow  penetrated  to  his  be 
numbed  heart,  for  in  his  effort  to  comfort  her  he  was 
himself  vaguely  comforted,  For  a  minute  he  held  her 
tightly  in  his  arms  until  he  was  sure  he  could  command 
himself.  When  he  let  her  go,  she  put  her  hand  up  in  a 
bewildered  way  and  touched  her  cheek;  the  boy  had 
kissed  her!  But  by  that  time  she  was  able  to  go  back  to 
the  purpose  that  had  brought  her  here;  she  told  him  to 
sit  down  and  then  began,  dogmatically,  to  insist  upon 
her  plan. 

David  smiled  a  little  as  he  explained  that,  quite  apart 
from  any  question  of  income,  the  hospital  experience 
was  valuable  to  him.  "I  wouldn't  give  it  up,  Mrs. 
Maitland,  if  I  had  a  million  dollars!"  he  said,  with  a 
convincing  exaggeration  that  was  like  the  old  David. 
"But  it's  mighty  kind  in  you.  Please  believe  I  do  ap 
preciate  your  kindness." 

"No  kindness  about  it,"  she  said  impatiently;  "my 
family  is  in  your  debt,  David."  At  which  he  hardened 
instantly. 

"Well,"  she  said;  and  was  silent  for  awhile,  biting  her 
finger  and  looking  down  at  her  boots.  Suddenly,  with  a 
grunt  of  satisfaction,  she  began  to  hit  the  arm  of  her 
chair  softly  with  her  closed  fist.  "  I've  got  it!"  she  said. 
"I  suppose  you  wouldn't  refuse  the  trusteeship  of  a 
fund,  one  of  these  days,  to  build  a  hospital?  Near  my 
Works,  maybe?  I'm  all  the  time  having  accidents.  I 
remember  once  getting  a  filing  in  my  eye,  and — and 
somebody  suggested  a  doctor  to  take  it  out.  A  doctor 
for  a  filing!  I  guess  you'd  have  been  equal  to  that  job — 
young  as  you  are?  Still,  it  wouldn't  be  bad  to  have  a 
doctor  round,  even  if  he  was  young,  if  anything  serious 
happened.  Yes,  a  hospital  near  the  Works — first  for 
my  men  and  then  for  outsiders.  It  is  a  good  idea!  I 
suppose  you  wouldn't  refuse  to  run  such  a  hospital,  and 
draw  your  wages,  like  a  man  ?" 
20  303 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Well,  no,  I  wouldn't  refuse  that,"  he  said,  smiling. 
It  was  many  weeks  since  David  had  smiled  so  frankly. 
A  strange  thing  had  happened  in  that  moment  when  he 
had  forgotten  himself  in  trying  to  comfort  Blair's  mother 
— his  corroding  suspicion  of  Elizabeth  seemed  to  melt 
away !  In  its  place  was  to  come,  a  little  later,  the  dread 
ful  but  far  more  bearable  pain  of  enduring  remorse  for 
his  own  responsibility  for  Elizabeth's  act.  But  just  then, 
when  he  tried  o  comfort  that  poor  mother,  there  was 
only  a  breaking  of  the  ice  about  his  own  heart  in  a  warm 
gush  of  pity  for  her.  .  .  .  "I  don't  see  that  there's  much 
chance  of  funds  for  hospitals  coming  my  way,"  he  said, 
smiling. 

"You  never  can  tell,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  morning  Blair  heard  his  sentence  from  his  mother, 
Elizabeth  spent  in  her  parlor  in  the  hotel,  looking  idly  out 
of  the  window  at  the  tawny  current  of  the  river  covered 
with  its  slipping  sheen  of  oil.  Steamboats  were  pushing  up 
and  down  or  nosing  into  the  sand  to  unload  their  cargoes; 
she  could  hear  the  creak  of  hawsers,  the  bang  of  gang 
planks  thrown  across  to  the  shore,  the  cries  and  songs 
of  stevedores  sweating  and  toiling  on  the  wharf  that  was 
piled  with  bales  of  cotton,  endless  blue  barrels  of  oil, 
and  black  avalanches  of  coal.  She  did  not  think  of 
Blair's  ordeal;  she  was  not  interested  in  it.  She  was  not 
interested  in  anything.  Sometimes  she  thought  vaguely 
of  the  letter  which  had  never  been  and  would  never  be 
written  to  David,  and  sometimes  of  that  message  from  him 
which  she  had  not  yet  been  able  to  hear  from  Miss  White's 
lips;  but  for  the  most  part  she  did  not  think  of  anything. 
She  was  tired  of  thinking.  She  sat  huddled  in  a  chair> 
staring  dully  out  of  the  window;  she  was  like  a  captive 
bird,  moping  on  its  perch,  its  poor  bright  head  sinking 
down  into  its  tarnished  feathers.  She  was  so  absorbed 
in  the  noise  and  confusion  of  traffic  that  she  did  not 
hear  a  knock.  When  it  was  repeated,  she  rose  listlessly 
to  answer  it,  but  before  she  reached  the  door  it  opened, 
and  her  uncle  entered.  Elizabeth  backed  away  silently. 
He  followed  her,  but  for  a  moment  he  was  silent,  too — 
it  seemed  to  Robert  Ferguson  as  if  youth  had  been 
wiped  out  of  her  face.  Under  the  shock  of  the  change 
in  her,  he  found  for  a  moment  nothing  to  say.  When 
he  spoke  his  voice  trembled — with  anger,  she  thought. 

305 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Mrs.  Richie  wrote  me  that  I  must  come  and  see  you. 
I  told  her  I  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  you." 

Elizabeth  sat  down  without  speaking. 

"I  don't  see  what  good  it  does  to  come,"  he  said, 
staring  at  the  tragic  face.  "Of  course  you  know  my 
opinion  of  you."  She  nodded.  "So  why  should  I 
come?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Well,  I — I'm  here.  And  you  may  come  home  some 
times,  if  you  want  to.  Miss  White  is  willing  to  see  you, 
I  believe." 

"Thank  you,  Uncle  Robert." 

As  she  spoke  the  door  of  the  elevator  in  the  hall  clanged 
shut,  and  the  next  moment  Blair  entered.  He  carried 
a  loose  twist  of  white  paper  in  his  arms,  and  when,  at  the 
sight  of  Robert  Ferguson,  he  tossed  it  down  on  the 
table  it  fell  open,  and  the  fragrance  of  roses  overflowed 
into  the  room.  Raging  from  the  lash  of  his  mother's 
tongue,  he  had  rushed  back  to  the  hotel  to  tell  Elizabeth 
what  had  happened,  but  in  spite  of  his  haste  he  stopped 
on  the  way  to  get  her  some  flowers.  He  did  not  think 
of  them  now,  nor  even  of  his  own  wrongs,  for  here  was 
Robert  Ferguson  attacking  her!  "Mr.  Ferguson,"  he 
said,  quietly,  but  reddening  to  his  temples,  "of  course 
you  know  that  in  the  matter  of  Elizabeth's  hasty  mar 
riage  I  am  the  only  §  one  to  blame.  But  though  you 
blame  me,  I  hope  you  will  believe  that  I  will  do  my  best 
to  make  her  happy." 

"I  believe,"  said  Elizabeth's  uncle,  "that  you  are  a 
damned  scoundrel."  He  took  up  his  hat  and  began  to 
smooth  the  nap  on  his  arm;  then  he  turned  to  Eliza 
beth — and  in  his  neart  he  damned  Blair  Maitland  more 
vigorously  than  before:  the  lovely  color  had  all  been 
washed  away  by  tears,  the  amber  eyes  were  dull, 
even  the  brightness  of  her  hair  seemed  dimmed.  It  was 
as  if  something  had  breathed  upon  the  sparkle  and  clear 
ness;  it  was  like  seeing  her  through  a  mist.  So,  barking 

306 


"OF      COURSE      YOU       KNOW       MY       OPINION      OF      YOU 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

fiercely  to  keep  his  lip  from  shaking,  he  said:  "And  I 
hope  you  understand,  Elizabeth,  I  have  no  respect  for 
you,  either." 

She  looked  up  with  faint  surprise.  "Why,  of  course 
not." 

"I  insist,"  Blair  said,  peremptorily,  "that  you  address 
my  wife  with  respect  or  leave  her  presence." 

Mr.  Ferguson  put  his  hat  down  on  the  table,  not 
noticing  that  the  roses  spotted  it  with  their  wet  petals, 
and  stared  at  him.  "Well,  upon  my  word!"  he  said. 
"Do  you  think  I  need  you  to  instruct  me  in  my  duty  to 
my  niece?"  Then,  with  sudden,  cruel  insight,  he  added, 
"David  Richie's  mother  has  done  that."  As  he  spoke 
he  bent  over  and  kissed  Elizabeth.  Instantly,  with  a 
smothered  cry,  she  clung  to  him.  There  was  just  a 
moment  when,  her  head  on  his  breast,  he  felt  her  soft 
hair  against  his  cheek — and  a  minute  later,  she  felt 
something  wet  on  her  cheek.  They  had  both  forgotten 
Blair.  He  slunk  away  and  left  them  alone. 

Robert  Ferguson  straightened  up  with  a  jerk.  "Where 
— where — where's  my  hat!"  he  said,  angrily;  "she  said 
I  was  hard.  She  doesn't  know  everything!"  But 
Elizabeth  caught  his  hand  and  held  it  to  her  lips. 

When  Blair  came  back  she  was  quite  gentle  to  him; 
yes,  the  roses  were  very  pretty;  yes,  very  sweet.  "Thank 
you,  Blair,"  she  said;  but  she  did  not  ask  him  about  his 
interview  with  his  mother;  she  had  forgotten  it.  He 
took  the  stab  of  her  indifference  without  wincing;  but 
suddenly  he  was  comforted,  for  when  he  began  to  tell  her 
what  his  mother  was  going  to  do,  she  was  sharply  aroused. 
She  lifted  her  head — that  spirited  head  which  in  the  old 
days  had  never  drooped ;  and  looked  at  him  in  absolute 
dismay.  Blair  was  being  punished  for  a  crime  that  was 
more  hers  than  his! 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "it  isn't  fair!  I'm  the  one  to  blame; 
it  isn't  fair!" 

The  indignation  in  her  voice  made  his  heart  leap. 
307 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"  Of  course  it  isn't  fair.  But  Elizabeth,  I  would  pay  any 
price  to  know  that  you  were  my  wife."  He  tried  to  take 
her  hand,  but  she  pushed  him  aside  and  began  to  pace 
about  the  room. 

"It  isn't  right!"  she  said;  "she  sha'n't  treat  you  so!" 
She  was  almost  like  the  old,  furious  Elizabeth  in  that 
gust  of  distress  at  her  own  responsibility  for  an  injustice 
to  him.  But  Blair  dared  to  believe  that  her  anger  was 
for  his  sake,  and  to  have  her  care  that  he  should  lose 
money  made  the  loss  almost  welcome.  He  felt,  through 
his  rage  at  his  mother,  a  thrill  of  purpose,  a  desire  to 
amount  to  something,  for  Elizabeth's  sake — which,  if 
she  could  have  known  it,  might  have  comforted  Sarah 
Maitland,  sitting  in  her  dreary  bedroom,  her  face  hidden 
in  her  hands. 

"Dearest,  what  do  I  care  for  her  or  her  money?"  he 
cried  out;  "/  have  yon!" 

Elizabeth  was  not  listening  to  him;  she  was  thinking 
what  she  could  do  to  save  him  from  his  mother's  dis 
pleasure.  "I'll  go  and  see  her,  and  tell  her  it  was  my 
fault,"  she  said  to  herself.  She  had  a  vague  feeling  that 
if  she  could  soften  Mrs.  Maitland  she  and  Blair  would  be 
quits. 

She  did  not  tell  him  of  her  purpose,  but  the  mere  having  • 
a  purpose  made  her  face  alert,  and  it  seemed  to  him  that 
she  identified  herself  with  him  and  his  interests.  His 
eager  denial  of  her  self-accusation  that  she  had  injured 
him,  his  ardent  impulse  to  protect  her  from  any  remorse, 
to  take  all  the  blame  of  a  possible  "mistake"  on  his  own 
shoulders,  brought  an  astonishing  unselfishness  into  his 
face.  But  Elizabeth  would  not  let  him  blame  himself. 

"It  was  all  my  fault,"  she  insisted.  "I  was  out  of 
my  head!" 

At  that  he  frowned  sharply—"  when  you  are  eaten 
up  with  jealousy,"  his  mother  had  said.  Oh,  he  did 
not  need  his  mother  to  tell  him  what  jealousy  meant: 
Elizabeth  would  not  have  married  him  if  she  had  not 

308 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

been  'out  of  her  head'!  "She  still  thinks  of  him,"  he 
said  to  himself,  as  he  had  said  many,  many  times  in 
these  two  months  of  marriage — months  of  alternate 
ecstasies  and  angers,  of  hopes  and  despairs.  As  for  her 
indignation  at  the  way  he  had  been  treated,  it  meant 
nothing  personal,  after  all.  In  his  disappointment  he 
went  out  of  the  room  in  hurt  silence  and  left  her  to  her 
thoughts  of  "him."  This  was  the  way  most  of  their 
talks  ended. 

But  Elizabeth's  indignation  did  not  end.  In  the  next 
two  days,  while  Mrs.  Maitland  was  in  Philadelphia 
making  her  naive  offer  to  David,  she  brooded  over  the 
situation.  "I  won't  have  Blair  punished  for  my  sins,"- 
she  said  to  herself;  "I  won't  have  it!"  Her  revolt  at 
an  injustice  was  a  faint  echo  of  her  old  violence.  She 
had  no  one  to  talk  to  about  it;  Nannie  was  too  shy  to 
come  to  see  her,  and  Miss  White  too  tearful  to  be  con 
sulted.  But  she  did  not  need  advice;  she  knew  what 
she  must  do.  The  afternoon  following  Mrs.  Maitland's 
return  from  Philadelphia  she  went  to  see  her.  .  .  .  She 
found  Nannie  in  the  parlor,  sitting  forlornly  at  her 
drawing-board.  Nannie  had  heard,  of  course,  from 
Blair,  the  details  of  that  interview  with  his  mother, 
and  in  her  scared  anger  she  planned  many  ways  of 
"making  Mamma  nice  to  Blair,"  but  she  had  not  thought 
of  Elizabeth's  assistance.  She  took  it  for  granted  that 
Elizabeth  would  not  have  the  courage  to  "  face  Mamma." 

"I  have  come  to  see  Mrs.  Maitland,"  Elizabeth  said. 
"Is  she  in  the  dining-room?" 

Nannie  quailed.  "Oh,  Elizabeth !  How  do  you  dare ? 
But  do  go;  and  make  her  forgive  him.  She  wouldn't 
listen  to  me.  And  after  all,  Elizabeth,  you  know  that 
you—" 

"  Yes,  I'm  the  one,"  Elizabeth  said,  briefly;  and  went 
swiftly  across  the  hall.  She  stood  for  a  moment  by 
Sarah  Maitland's  desk  unnoticed.  "Mrs.  Maitland!" 
Elizabeth's  voice  was  peremptory. 

309 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Blair's  mother  put  her  pen  down  and  looked  up  over 
her  spectacles.  "  Oh— Elizabeth  ?" 

"Mrs.  Maitland,  I  came  to  tell  you  that  you  must  not 
be  angry  at  Blair.  It  was  all  my  fault." 

"I  guess,  as  I  told  your  uncle,  it  was  the  pot  and  the 
kettle,  Elizabeth." 

"No,  no!   I  was  angry,  and  I  was — willing." 

"Do  you  think  it  excuses  Blair  if  you  did  throw  your 
self  at  his  head?" 

Elizabeth,  who  had  thought  that  no  lesser  wound  than 
the  one  she  had  dealt  herself  could  hurt  her,  flinched. 
But  she  did  not  defend  herself.  "  I  think  it  does  excuse 
him  to  some  extent,  and  that  is  why  I  have  come  to  ask 
you  to  forgive  him." 

"Oh,"  said  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  paused;  then  with 
most  disconcerting  suddenness,  sneezed  violently  and 
blew  her  nose;  "bless  you,  I've  forgiven  him." 

"Then,"  said  Elizabeth,  with  a  gasp  of  relief,  "you 
won't  disinherit  him!" 

"Disinherit  him?  What's  that  got  to  do  with  for 
giving  him  ?  Of  course  I  will  disinherit  him, — or  rather, 
I  have.  My  will  is  made;  signed,  sealed.  I've  left  him 
an  income  of  a  thousand  dollars  a  year.  That  will  keep 
you  from  starvation.  If  Blair  is  worth  more  he'll  earn 
more.  If  he  isn't,  he  can  live  on  a  thousand  dollars — as 
better  men  than  he  have  done.  Or  he  can  go  to  the 
workhouse; — your  uncle  can  take  care  of  you.  I  reckon 
I've  paid  taxes  in  this  county  long  enough  to  entitle  my 
son  to  go  to  the  workhouse  if  he  wants  to." 

"But  Mrs.  Maitland,"  Elizabeth  protested,  hotly, 
"it  isn't  fair,  just  because  I — I  let  him  marry  me,  to 
punish  him — " 

Mrs.  Maitland  struck  her  fist  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 
"You  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about!  I  am 
not '  punishing '  him ;  that's  the  last  thing  I  was  thinking 
of.  If  there's  any  'punishing'  going  on,  I'm  the  one 
that's  getting  it.  Listen,  Elizabeth,  and  I'll  try  to  ex- 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

plain — you  look  as  if  you  had  some  sense,  so  maybe  you 
can  understand.  Nannie  couldn't;  she  has  no  brains. 
And  Blair  wouldn't — I  guess  he  has  no  heart.  But  this 
is  how  it  is:  Blair  has  always  been  a  loafer — that's  v/hy 
he  behaved  as  he  did  to  you.  Satan  finds  some  mischief 
still,  you  know!  So  I'm  cutting  off  his  allowance,  now, 
and  leaving  him  practically  penniless  in  my  will,  to  stop 
his  loafing.  To  make  him  work!  He'll  have  to  work, 
to  keep  from  starving;  and  work  will  make  a  man  of  him. 
As  for  you,  you've  done  an  abominable  thing,  Elizabeth; 
but  it's  done!  Now,  turn  to,  and  pay  for  your  whistle: 
do  your  duty!  Use  your  influence  to  induce  Blair  to 
work.  That's  the  best  way  to  make  up  for  the  injury 
you've  done  him.  As  for  the  injury  he's  done  you,  I 
hope  the  Lord  will  send  you  some  children  to  make  up 
for  that.  Now,  my — my  dear,  clear  out !  clear  out !  I've 
got  my  work  to  do." 

Elizabeth  went  back  to  Nannie's  parlor,  stinging  under 
her  mother-in-law's  candor.  That  she  was  able  to  feel  it 
showed  that  her  apathy  was  wearing  off.  At  any  rate, 
the  thought  of  the  "injury"  she  had  done  Blair,  which 
she  took  to  be  the  loss  of  fortune,  strengthened  her  some 
times  wavering  resolution  to  stay  with  him.  She  did  not 
tell  him  of  this  interview,  or  of  its  effect  upon  her,  but  she 
told  her  uncle — part  of  it.  She  went  to  him  that  night, 
and  sitting  down  on  a  hassock  at  his  feet,  her  head 
against  his  knee,  she  told  him  how  Blair  was  to  be  pun 
ished  for  her  crime — she  called  it  a  crime.  Then,  in  a 
low  voice,  she  told  him,  as  well  as  she  could,  just  how 
the  crime  had  been  committed. 

"  I  guessed  how  it  was,"  he  said.  And  they  were  silent 
for  a  while.  Then  he  broke  out,  huskily:  "I  don't  care 
a  hang  about  Blair  or  his  mother's  will.  He  deserves  all 
he  gets — or  won't  get,  rather !  But,  Elizabeth,  if — if  you 
want  to  be  free — " 

"Uncle  Robert,  what  I  want  isn't  of  any  importance 
any  more." 

3" 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I  talked  it  over  as  a  supposititious  case  with  Howe 
the  other  day,  and  he  said  that  if  Blair  would  agree, 
possibly — mind  you,  only  possibly; — a  divorce  could  be 
arranged." 

She  sunk  her  head  in  her  hands;  then  answered  in  a 
whisper:  " Uncle,  I  did  it.  I've  got  to  see  it  through." 

After  a  minute's  silence  he  put  his  hand  on  her  soft 
hair.  "Bully  for  you,  Elizabeth,"1  he  said,  brokenly. 
Then,  to  escape  from  the  emotional  demand  of  the  mo 
ment,  he  began  to  bark:  "You  are  outrageously  care 
less  about  money.  How  on  earth  a  girl,  who  has  been 
brought  up  by  a  man,  and  so  might  be  expected  to  have 
some  sense  in  such  matters,  can  be  so  careless,  I  don't 
understand!  You've  never  asked  me  about  that  legacy. 
I've  put  the  money  in  the  bank.  Your  bank-book  is 
there  on  my  table." 

Elizabeth  was  silent.  That  money!  Oh,  how  could 
she  ever  touch  it  ?  But  in  view  of  Mrs.  Maitland's  de 
cision  it  was  perfectly  obvious  that  ultimately  she  would 
have  to  touch  it.  "Blair  can  live  on  it,"  she  thought — 
it  was  a  relief  to  her  to  stab  herself  with  words; — "  Blair 
'  can  live  on  it  for  two  years.' " 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

OF  course,  after  a  while,  as  time  passed,  all  the  people 
who  had  been  caught  in  the  storm  the  two  reckless 
creatures  had  let  loose,  shook  down  again  into  their 
grooves,  and  the  routine  of  living  went  on.  There  are 
few  experiences  more  bewildering  to  the  unhappy  human 
heart  than  this  of  discovering  that  things  do  go  on. 
Innumerable  details  of  the  unimportant  flood  in  and  fill 
up  the  cracks  and  breaches  that  grief  has  made  in  the 
structure  of  life;  we  continue  to  live,  and  even  to  find 
life  desirable! 

Miss  White  had  been  the  first  to  realize  this;  her  love 
for  Elizabeth,  being  really  (poor  old  maid!)  maternal,  was 
independent  of  respect,  so  almost  the  next  day  she  had 
been  able  to  settle  down  with  complete  happiness  into 
the  old  habit  of  loving.  Blair's  mother  was  the  next  to 
get  into  the  comfortable  track  of  routine;  the  very  day 
after  she  came  back  from  that  trip  to  Philadelphia  she 
plunged  into  business.  She  did,  however,  pause  long 
enough  to  tell  her  superintendent  how  she  was  going  to 
"even  things  up  with  David." 

"  I  am  going  to  give  him  a  lot  of  money  for  a  hospital," 
she  said.  "I'm  not  going  to  leave  it  to  him;  I'm  only 
sixty-two,  and  I  don't  propose  to  die  yet  awhile.  When 
I  do  Blair  will  probably  contest  the  will.  He  can't  break 
it.  It's  cast-iron.  But  I  don't  want  David  to  wait  until 
I'm  dead  and  gone,  and  Blair  has  given  up  trying  to 
break  my  will,  and  the  estate  is  settled.  I'm  going  to 
give  it  to  him  before  I  die.  In  a  year  or  two,  maybe. 
I'm  realizing  on  securities  now — why  don't  I  give  him 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  securities?  My  dear  sir,  what  does  a  doctor  know 
about  securities  ?  Doctors  have  no  more  financial  sense 
than  parsons — at  least,  not  much  more,"  she  added, 
with  relenting  justice.  "No;  David  is  to 'have  his 
money,  snug  in  the  bank — that  new  bank,  on  Federal 
Street.  I  told  the  president  I  was  rolling  up  a  nest-egg 
for  somebody — I  could  see  he  thought  it  was  for  Blair! 
I  didn't  enlighten  him,  because  I  don't  want  the  thing 
talked  about.  When  I  get  the  amount  I  want,  I'll  hand 
Master  David  a  bank  certificate  of  deposit,  and  with  all 
his  airs  about  accepting  money,  he  won't  be  able  to  help 
himself!  He'll  have  to  build  his  hospital,  and  draw  his 
wages.  It  will  make  him  independent  of  his  outside 
customers,  you  see.  Yes,  I  guess  I  can  whip  the  devil 
round  the  stump  as  well  as  the  next  person!"  she  said, 
bridling  with  satisfaction.  So,  with  an  interest  and  a 
hope,  Sarah  Maitland,  like  Miss  White,  found  life  worth 
living. 

With  David's  mother  the  occupation  of  trying  to  help 
David  made  living  desirable.  It  also  made  her  a  little 
more  remote  from  other  people's  interests.  Poor  Robert 
Ferguson  discovered  this  to  his  cost :  it  had  occurred  to 
him  that  now,  when  they  were  all  so  miserable,  she  might 
perhaps  "be  willing."  But  she  was  not.  When,  a  day 
or  two  after  he  had  gone  to  see  Elizabeth,  he  went  to 
Philadelphia,  Mrs.  Richie  was  tremulously  glad  to  see 
him,  so  that  she  might  pour  out  her  fears  about  David 
and  ask  advice  on  this  point  and  that.  "Being  a  man, 
you  understand  better  than  I  do,"  she  acknowledged 
meekly;  then  broke  down  and  cried  for  her  boy's  pain. 
And  when  the  kind,  barking  old  friend,  himself  blinking 
behind  misty  spectacles,  said,  "Oh,  now,  my  dear,  don't 
cry,"  she  was  so  comforted  that  she  cried  some  more, 
and  for  a  single  minute  found  her  head  most  unex 
pectedly  on  his  shoulder.  But  all  the  same,  she  was 
not  "willing." 

"Don't  ask  me,  dear  Mr.  Ferguson,"  she  said,  wiping 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

her  eyes.  "We  are  such  good  friends,  and  I'm  so  fond 
of  you,  don't  let's  spoil  it  all." 

"I  believe  you  are  fond  of  me,"  he  said,  "and  that  is 
why  it's  so  unreasonable  in  you  not  to  marry  me.  I 
don't  ask — impossibilities.  But  you  do  like  me;  and 
I  love  you,  you  dear,  good,  foolish  woman; — so  good 
that  you  couldn't  see  badness  when  it  lived  next  door 
to  you!" 

"Don't  be  so  hard  on  people  who  do  wrong,"  she 
pleaded;  "you  make  me  afraid  of  you  when  you  are  so 
hard." 

"I'm  not  hard;  Elizabeth  is  her  mother's  daughter; 
that's  all." 

"Oh!"  she  cried,  with  sudden  passion,  "that  poor 
mother !  Can ' t  you  forgive  her  ? ' ' 

"No,"  he  said;   "I  can't." 

"You  ought  to  forgive  Elizabeth,  at  any  rate,"  she 
insisted,  faintly;  "and  you  ought  to  go  and  see  her." 

"Have  you  forgiven  her?"  he  parried. 

She  hesitated.  "I  think  I  have.  I've  tried  to;  but 
I  don't  understand  her.  I  can  understand  doing  some 
thing — wicked,  for  love;  but  not  for  hate." 

He  gave  his  meager  laugh.  "If  forgiveness  was  a 
question  of  understanding,  I'm  afraid  you'd  be  as  hard 
on  her  mother  as  I  am." 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  said,  vehemently,  "if  I  forgive 
Elizabeth,  it  is  for  her  mother's  sake."  Then  she  broke 
out,  almost  with  tears:  "Oh,  how  can  you  be  so  unkind 
as  not  to  go  and  see  the  child  ?  The  time  we  need  our 
friends  most  is  when  we  have  done  wrong!" 

He  was  silent. 

"Sometimes,"  she  said,  "sometimes  I  wish  you  would 
do  something  wrong  yourself,  just  to  learn  to  be  piti 
ful!" 

"You  wish  I  would  do  wrong?  I'm  always  doing 
wrong!  I  did  wrong  when  I  growled  so.  But — "  he 
paused;  "I  believe  I  have  seen  Elizabeth,"  he  said 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

sheepishly;  I  believe  we  kissed  and  made  up."  At 
which  even  poor,  sad  Helena  laughed. 

But  these  two  old  friends  discovered,  just  as  Miss 
White  and  Blair's  mother  had  discovered,  that  life  was 
not  over  for  them,  because  the  habit  of  friendship  per 
sisted.  And  by  and  by,  nearly  a  year  later,  David — 
even  David!  began  to  find  a  reason  for  living,  in  his 
profession.  The  old,  ardent  interest  which  used  to 
make  his  eyes  dim  with  pity,  or  his  heart  leap  with  joy 
at  giving  help,  was  gone;  he  no  longer  cared  to  cuddle 
the  babies  he  might  help  to  bring  into  the  world ;  and  a 
death-bed  was  an  irritating  failure  rather  than  any  more 
human  emotion.  So  far  as  other  people's  hopes  and 
fears  went,  he  was  bitter  or  else  callous,  but  he  began 
to  forget  his  humiliation,  and  he  lost  his  self-conscious 
ness  in  the  serious  purpose  of  success.  He  did  not  talk 
to  his  mother  of  the  catastrophy  of  his  life ;  but  he  did 
talk  of  other  things,  and  with  the  old  friendly  intimacy. 
She  was  his  only  intimate  friend. 

Thus,  gradually,  the  little  world  that  loved  Elizabeth 
and  Blair  fell  back,  after  the  storm  of  pain  and  mortifi 
cation,  into  the  merciful  commonplace  of  habit  and 
of  duty  to  be  done. 

But  for  Elizabeth  and  Blair  there  was  no  going  back; 
they  had  indeed  fired  the  Ephesian  dome!  The  past 
now,  to  Elizabeth,  meant  David's  message, — to  which, 
finally,  she  had  been  able  to  listen:  "Tell  her  I  under 
stand;  ask  her  to  forgive  me."  In  Blair's  past  there 
was  nothing  real  to  which  he  could  return;  for  him  the 
reality  of  life  had  begun  with  Love;  and  notwithstand 
ing  the  bite  of  shame,  the  battle  with  his  sense  of  chivalry, 
that  revolted  (now  and  then)  at  the  thought  of  holding 
an  unwilling  woman  as  his  wife,  and  the  constant  dull 
ache  of  jealousy,  he  had  madly  happy  moments  that 
first  year  of  his  marriage.  Elizabeth  was  his!  That 
was  enough  for  him.  His  circumstances,  which  would 
have  caused  most  men  a  good  deal  of  anxiety,  were, 

316 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

thanks  to  his  irresponsibility,  very  little  in  his  thought. 
There  was  still  a  balance  at  his  bank  which  made  it 
possible,  without  encroaching  on  Elizabeth's  capital — 
which  he  swore  he  would  not  do — to  live  at  the  old 
River  House  "fairly  decently."  He  was,  however, 
troubled  because  he  could  not  propitiate  Elizabeth 
with  expensive  gifts;  and  almost  immediately  after  that 
interview  with  his  mother,  he  began  to  think  about  an 
occupation,  merely  that  he  might  have  more  money  to 
spend  on  his  wife.  "If  I  could  only  buy  her  some 
jewels!"  he  used  to  say  to  himself,  with  a  worried  look. 
"I  want  to  get  you  everything  you  want,  my  darling," 
he  told  her  once. 

She  made  no  answer;  and  he  burst  out  in  sudden 
angry  pain:  "You  don't  care  what  I  do!"  Still  she  did 
not  speak.  "You — you  are  thinking  of  him  still,"  he 
said  between  set  teeth.  This  constant  corroding  thought 
did  not  often  break  through  his  studied  purpose  to  win 
her  by  his  passionately  considerate  tenderness;  when  it 
did,  it  always  ended  in  bitterness  for  him. 

"Of  course  I  am  thinking  of  him,"  she  would  say, 
dully;  "  I  never  stop  thinking  of  him." 

"I  believe  you  would  go  back  to  him  now!"  he  flung 
at  her 

"Go  back  to  him?  I  would  go  back  to  him  on  my 
hands  and  knees  if  he  would  take  me." 

Words  like  that  left  him  speechless  with  misery;  and 
yet  he  was  happy — she  was  his  wife ! 

When  his  bank  account  began  to  dwindle,  he  found 
it  easy  to  borrow ;  the  fact  that  he  was  the  son  of  his 
mother  (and  consequently  his  bills  had  always  been 
paid)  was  sufficient  collateral.  That  he  borrowed  at  a 
ruinous  interest  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to  a  man 
who,  having  never  earned  a  dollar,  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  of  the  value  of  a  dollar.  At  the  end  of  the  first  year 
of  his  marriage,  jewels  for  Elizabeth  seemed  less  impor 
tant  to  him  than  her  bread  and  butter;  and  it  was  then 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

that  with  real  anxiety  he  tried  to  find  something  to  do. 
Again  "Sarah  Maitland's  son"  found  doors  open  to  him 
which  the  ordinary  man,  inexperienced  and  notoriously 
idle,  would  have  found  closed ;  but  none  of  them  offered 
what  he  thought  a  sufficient  salary;  and  by  and  by  he 
realized  that  very  soon  he  would  be  obliged,  as  he  ex 
pressed  it,  "to  sponge  on  Elizabeth";  for,  reckless  as  he 
was,  he  knew  that  his  borrowing  capacity  must  come  to 
an  end.  When  the  "sponging"  finally  began,  he  was 
acutely  uncomfortable,  which  was  certainly  to  his  credit. 
At  any  rate,  it  proved  that  he  was  enough  of  a  man  to  be 
miserable  under  such  conditions.  When  a  husband 
who  is  young  and  vigorous  lives  idly  on  his  wife's  money 
one  of  two  things  happens:  he  is  miserable,  or  he  de 
generates  into  contentment.  Blair  was  not  degener 
ating — consequently  he  was  honestly  wretched. 

His  attempts  to  find  something  to  do  were  not  without 
humor  to  his  mother,  who  kept  herself  informed,  of 
course,  of  all  his  "business"  ventures.  "What!  he 
wants  the  Dalzells  to  take  him  on  ?  What  for  ?  Errand- 
boy?  That's  all  he's  good  for.  But  I'm  afraid  two 
dollars  and  a  half  a  week  won't  buy  him  many  china 
beetles!"  When  Blair  essayed  a  broker's  office  she 
even  made  an  ancient  joke  to  her  superintendent:  "If 
Blair  could  buy  himself  for  what  he  is  worth  to  Haines, 
and  sell  himself  for  what  he  thinks  he's  worth,  he  might 
make  a  fair  profit, — and  pick  up  some  more  old  masters." 

But  she  was  impatient  for  him  to  get  through  with  all 
this  nonsense  of  dilly-dallying  at  making  a  living  by 
doing  things  he  knew  nothing  about!  How  soon  would 
he  get  down  to  hard-pan  and  knock  at  her  door  at  the 
Works  and  ask  for  a  job,  man-fashion?  "That's  what 
I  want  to  know!"  she  used  to  tell  Mr.  Ferguson,  who  was 
silent.  He  did  not  want  to  know  anything  about  Blair; 
all  he  cared  for  was  to  help  his  girl  bear  the  burden  of  her 
folly.  He  called  it  "folly"  now,  and  Miss  White  used  to 
nod  her  old  head  in  melancholy  agreement.  It  was  only 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  Robert  Ferguson  that  Mrs.  Maitland  betrayed  her  con 
stant  anxiety  about  her  son;  and  it  was  that  anxiety 
which  made  her  keenly  sensitive  to  Elizabeth's  deepen 
ing  depression.  For  as  the  excitement  of  sacrifice  and 
punishment  wore  off,  and  the  strain  of  every-day  living 
began  to  tell,  Elizabeth's  depression  was  very  marked. 
She  was  never  angry  now — she  had  not  the  energy  for 
anger;  and  she  was  never  unkind  to  Blair;  perhaps 
her  own  pain  made  her  pitiful  of  his.  But  she  was  al 
ways,  as  Cherry-pie  expressed  it,  "under  a  cloud."  Mrs. 
Maitland,  watching  her,  wondered  if  she  was  moody 
because  funds  were  getting  low.  How  intensely  she 
hoped  that  was  the  reason!  "I  reckon  that  money  of 
hers  is  coming  to  an  end,"  she  used  to  think,  trium 
phantly — for  she  had  known,  through  Nannie,  just  when 
Blair  had  reached  the  point  at  which  he  had  been  obliged 
to  use  his  wife's  capital.  Whenever  she  saw  Elizabeth — 
who  for  want  of  anything  better  to  do  came  constantly 
to  see  Nannie :  she  would  drop  a  word  or  two  which  she 
thought  might  go  back  to  her  son:  "We  need  an  extra 
hand  in  the  office."  Or:  "How  would  Blair  like  to  travel 
for  the  Works?  We  can  always  take  on  a  traveling 
man." 

She  never  had  the  chance  to  drop  her  hints  to  Blair 
himself.  In  vain  Nannie  urged  upon  her  brother  her 
old  plea:  "Be  nice  to  Mamma.  Do  come  and  see  her. 
Everything  will  be  all  right  again  if  you  will  only  come 
and  see  her!"  Nothing  moved  him.  If  his  mother 
could  be  firm,  so  could  he;  he  was  never  more  distinctly 
her  son  than  in  his  obstinacy. 

"If  she  alters  her  will,"  he  said,  briefly,  "I  will  alter 
my  behavior.  She's  not  my  mother  so  long  as  she  casts 
off  her  son." 

Mrs.  Maitland  seemed  to  age  very  much  that  second 
year.  Her  business  was  still  a  furious  interest;  she 
stormed  her  way  through  every  trade  obstacle,  occa 
sionally  bargaining  with  'her  conscience  by  increasing 
21  319 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

her  donations  to  foreign  missions;  but  there  was  this 
change  of  suddenly  apparent  age.  Instead  of  the  old, 
clear-eyed,  ruthless  joy  in  work,  there  was  a  look  of 
furtive  waiting;  an  anxiety  of  hope  deferred,  that 
grooved  itself  into  her  face.  And  somewhere  in  the 
spring  of  the  third  year,  the  hoped-for  moment  ap 
proached — necessity  began  to  offer  its  beneficent  oppor 
tunity  to  her  son.  In  spite  of  experiments  in  prudence 
in  borrowing  and  in  earning,  the  end  of  Elizabeth's 
money  was  in  sight.  When  the  end  was  reached,  there 
would  be  nothing  for  Blair  Maitland  but  surrender. 

"Shall  I  cave  in  now?"  he  vacillated;  he  was  wan 
dering  off  alone  across  the  bridge,  fairly  aching  with 
indecision,  and  brooding  miserably,  not  only  over  the 
situation,  but  over  his  helplessness  to  buy  his  way  into 
Elizabeth's  affections.  "She  ought  to  have  a  carriage; 
it  is  preposterous  for  my  wife  to  be  going  round  in  street 
cars.  If  I  could  give  her  a  carriage  and  a  pair  of 
horses!"  But  of  course  it  was  ridiculous  to  think  of 
things  like  that.  He  could  not  buy  a  carriage  for 
Elizabeth  out  of  her  own  money — besides,  her  money 
was  shrinking  alarmingly.  It  was  this  passionate  de 
sire  to  propitiate  her,  as  well  as  the  recognition  of  ap 
proaching  necessities,  that  brought  him  to  the  point 
where  he  saw  capitulation  ahead  of  him.  "I  wish  I 
could  make  up  my  mind,"  he  thought,  wearily.  "Well, 
if  I  don't  get  something  to  do  pretty  soon,  it  will  be 
made  up  for  me, — I'll  have  to  eat  crow!  I'll  have  to  go 
to  the  Works  and  ask  for  a  job.  But  I  swear  I  won't 
speak  to — her!  It  is  damnable  to  have  to  cave  in;  I'd 
starve  before  I'd  do  it,  if  it  wasn't  for  Elizabeth/* 

But  before  the  time  for  eating  crow  arrived,  some 
thing  happened. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

MRS.  MAITLAND  and  Nannie  were  having  their  supper 
at  the  big,  cluttered  office  table  in  the  shabby  dining- 
room — shabbier  now  by  twenty  years  than  when  Blair 
first  expressed  his  opinion  of  it.  In  the  midst  of  the 
silent  meal  Sarah  Maitland's  eye  fell  on  her  stepdaughter, 
and  hardened  into  attention.  Nannie  looked  pale,  she 
thought;  and  frowned  slightly.  It  occurred  to  her  that 
the  girl  might  be  lonely  in  the  long  evenings  over  there 
in  the  parlor,  with  nothing  to  do  but  read  foolish  little 
stories,  or  draw  foolish  little  pictures,  or  embroider 
foolish  little  tidies  and  things.  "What  a  life!"  she  said 
to  herself;  it  was  a  shame  Blair  did  not  come  in  and 
cheer  his  sister  up.  Yes;  Nannie  was  certainly  very 
solitary.  What  a  pity  David  Richie  had  no  sense! 
"  Now  that  he  can't  get  Elizabeth,  nothing  could  be  more 
sensible,"  she  said  to  herself;  then  sighed.  Young  men 
were  never  very  sensible  in  regard  to  matrimony.  "I 
suppose  I  ought  to  do  something  myself  to  cheer  her  up," 
she  thought, — a  little  impatiently,  for  really  it  was  rather 
absurd  to  expect  a  person  of  her  quality  to  cheer  Nannie ! 
Still,  she  might  talk  to  her.  Of  course  they  had  only 
one  topic  in  common : 

"Seen  your  brother  lately?" 

"  No, Mamma.     He  went  East  day  before  yesterday." 

"Has  he  found  anything  to  do?"  This  was  the  usual 
weary  question;  Nannie  gave  the  usual  scared  answer: 

"  I  think  not;  not  yet.  He  is  going  to  look  up  some 
thing  in  New  York,  Elizabeth  says." 

"Tell  Elizabeth  I  will  take  him  on  at  the  Works, 
321 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

whenever  he  is  ready  to  come.  His  belly  will  bring  him 
to  it  yet!"  she  ended,  with  the  old,  hopeful  belief  that 
has  comforted  parents  ever  since  the  fatted  calf  proved 
the  correctness  of  the  expectation.  Nannie  sighed.  Mrs. 
Maitland  realized  that  she  was  not  "cheering"  her  very 
much.  "You  ought  to  amuse  yourself,"  she  said, 
severely;  "how  do  you  amuse  yourself?" 

"I — draw,"  Nannie  managed  to  say;  she  really  could 
not  think  of  any  other  amusement. 

Then  her  stepmother  had  an  inspiration:  "Would 
you  like  to  come  over  to  the  furnace  and  see  the  night 
cast  ?  It's  quite  a  sight,  people  say." 

Nannie  was  dumfounded  at  the  attention.  Mamma 
offering  to  take  her  to  the  Works !  To  be  sure,  it  was  the 
last  thing  on  earth  she  would  choose  to  do,  but  if  her 
stepmother  asked  her,  of  course  she  could  not  say  no. 
She  said  "  yes,"  reluctantly  enough,  but  Mrs.  Maitland  did 
not  detect  the  reluctance;  she  was  too  pleased  with 
herself  at  having  thought  of  some  way  of  entertaining 
the  girl. 

"Get  your  bonnet  on,  get  your  bonnet  on!"  she  com 
manded,  in  high  good  humor.  And  Nannie,  quailing 
at  the  thought  of  the  Works  at  night — "it's  dreadful 
enough  in  the  daytime,"  she  said  to  herself — put  on  her 
hat,  in  trembling  obedience.  "Yes,"  Mrs.  Maitland 
said,  as  she  tramped  down  the  cinder  path  toward  the 
mills,  Nannie  almost  running  at  her  heels — "yes,  the 
cast  is  a  pretty  sight,  people  say.  Your  brother  once 
said  that  it  ought  to  be  painted.  Well,  I  suppose  there 
are  people  who  care  for  pictures,"  she  said,  incredulously. 
"I  know  I'm  $5,000  out  of  pocket  on  account  of  a  pic 
ture,"  she  ended,  with  a  grim  chuckle. 

As  they  were  crossing  the  Yards,  the  cavernous  glooms 
of  the  Works,  under  the  vast  stretch  of  their  sheet-iron 
roofs,  were  lighted  for  dazzling  moments  by  the  glow  of 
molten  metal  and  the  sputtering  roar  of  flames  from  the 
stacks;  a  network  of  narrow-gauge  tracks  spread  about 

322 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

them,  and  the  noises  from  the  mills  were  deafening. 
Nannie  clutched  nervously  at  Mrs.  Maitland's  arm,  and 
her  stepmother  grunted  with  amusement.  "Hold  on  to 
me,"  she  shouted — she  had  to  shout  to  make  herself 
heard;  "there's  nothing  to  hurt  you.  Why,  I  could 
walk  around  here  with  my  eyes  shut!" 

Nannie  clung  to  her  frantically;  if  she  protested,  the 
soft  flutter  of  her  voice  did  not  reach  Mrs.  Maitland's 
ears.  A  few  steps  farther  brought  them  into  the  com 
parative  silence  of  the  cast-house  of  the  furnace,  and 
here  they  paused  while  Sarah  Maitland  spoke  to  one  of 
the  keepers.  Only  the  furnace  itself  was  roofed ;  beyond 
it  the  stretch  of  molded  sand  was  arched  by  the  serene 
and  starlit  night. 

"That's  the  pig  bed  out  there,"  Mrs.  Maitland  ex 
plained,  kindly;  "see,  Nannie?  Those  cross-trenches  in 
the  sand  they  call  sows ;  the  little  hollows  on  the  side  are 
the  pigs.  When  they  tap  the  furnace,  the  melted  iron 
will  flow  down  into  'em;  understand?" 

"Mamma,  I'd — I'd  like  to  go  home,"  poor  Nannie 
managed  to  say ;  "it  scares  me!" 

Mrs .  Maitland  looked  at  her  in  astonishment .  ' '  Scares 
you  ?  What  scares  you  ?" 

"It's  so — dreadful,"  Nannie  gasped. 

"You  don't  suppose  I'd  bring  you  anywhere  where 
you  could  get  hurt  ?"  her  stepmother  said,  incredulously. 
She  was  astonished  to  the  point  cf  being  pained.  How 
could  Herbert's  girl  be  such  a  fool?  She  remembered 
that  Blair  used  to  call  his  sister  the  "  'fraid-cat."  "  Good 
name,"  she  thought,  contemptuously.  She  made  no 
allowance  for  the  effect  of  this  scene  of  night  and  fire, 
of  stupendous  shadows  and  crashing  noises,  upon  a  little 
bleached  personality,  which  for  all  these  years,  had  lived 
in  the  shadow  of  a  nature  so  dominant  and  aggressive 
that,  quite  unconsciously,  it  sucked  the  color  and  the 
character  out  of  any  temperament  feebler  than  itself. 
Sarah  Maitland  frowned,  and  said  roughly,  "Oh,  you  can 

323 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

go  home,  if  you  want  to;  Mr.  Parks!"  she  called  to  the 
foreman ;  "just  walk  back  to  the  house,  if  you  please,  with 
my  daughter;"  then  she  turned  on  her  heel  and  went  up 
to  the  furnace. 

Nannie,  clutching  Parks's  hand,  stumbled  out  into  the 
darkness.  "It's  perfectly  awful!"  she  confided  to  the 
good-natured  man,  when  he  left  her  at  her  back  door. 

"Oh,  you  get  used  to  it,"  he  said,  kindly.  "You'd  'a 
knowed,"  he  told  one  of  his  workmen  afterward,  "that 
there  wasn't  hide  nor  hair  of  her  that  belonged  to  the 
Old  One.  A  slip  of  a  thing,  and  scared  to  death  of  the 
noise." 

The  "Old  One,"  after  Nannie  had  gone,  poked  about 
for  a  moment  or  two, — "she  noses  into  things,  to  save 
two  cents,"  her  men  used  to  say,  with  reluctant  admira 
tion  of  the  ruthless  shrewdness  that  was  instant  to  detect 
their  shortcomings;  then  she  went  down  the  slight  in 
cline  from  the  furnace  hearth  to  the  open  stretch  of 
molding-sand;  there  was  a  pile  of  rusty  scrap  at  one 
side,  and  here,  in  the  soft  April  darkness  under  the  stars, 
she  seated  herself,  looking  absently  at  the  furnace  and 
the  black,  gnome-like  figures  of  the  helpers.  She  was 
thinking  just  what  Parks  had  thought,  that  Nannie  had 
none  of  her  blood  in  her.  "Afraid!"  said  Sarah  Mait- 
land.  Well,  Blair  had  never  been  afraid,  she  would  say 
that  for  him;  he  was  a  fool,  and  pig-headed,  and  a 
loafer;  but  he  wasn't  a  coward.  He  had  even  thought 
it  fine,  that  scene  of  power,  where  civilization  made  itself 
before  his  very  eyes!  When  would  he  think  it  fine 
enough  to  come  in  and  go  to  work  ?  Come  in,  and  take 
his  part  in  making  civilization  ?  Then  she  noticed  the 
bending  figure  of  the  keeper  opening  the  notch  of  the 
furnace;  instantly  there  was  a  roar  of  sparks,  and  a 
blinding  white  gush  of  molten  iron  flowing  like  water 
down  into  the  sand  runner.  The  sudden,  fierce  illumi 
nation  drowned  the  stars  overhead,  and  brought  into 
clear  relief  her  own  figure,  sitting  there  on  the  pile  of 

324 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

scrap  watching  the  flowing  iron.  Tiny  blue  flames  of 
escaping  gas  danced  and  shimmered  on  its  ineffable 
rippling  brightness,  that  cooled  from  dazzling  snow  to 
rose,  then  to  crimson,  and  out  in  the  sand,  to  glowing 
gray.  Blair  had  called  it  "beautiful."  Well,  it  was  a 
pretty  sight!  She  wished  she  had  told  him  that  she 
herself  thought  it  pretty;  but  the  fact  was,  it  had  never 
struck  her  before.  UI  suppose  I  don't  notice  pretty 
things  very  much,"  she  thought,  in  some  surprise. 
"Well,  I've  never  had  time  for  foolishness.  Too*  busy 
making  money  for  Blair."  She  sighed;  after  all,  he 
wasn't  going  to  have  the  money.  She  had  been  heaping 
up  riches,  and  had  not  known  who  should  gather  them. 
She  had  been  too  busy  to  see  pretty  things.  And  why  ? 
That  orphan  asylums  and  reformatories — and  David 
Richie's  hospital — should  have  a  few  extra  thousands! 
A  month  ago  the  fund  she  was  making  for  David  had 
reached  the  limit  she  had  set  for  it,  and  only  to-day  she 
had  brought  the  bank  certificate  of  deposit  home  with 
her.  She  had  felt  a  little  glow  of  satisfaction  when  she 
locked  it  into  the  safe  in  her  desk;  she  liked  the  con 
sciousness  of  a  good  job  finished.  She  was  going  to  sum 
mon  the  youngster  to  Mercer,  and  tell  him  how  he  was 
to  administer  the  fund ;  and  if  he  put  on  any  of  his  airs 
and  graces  about  accepting  money,  she  would  shut  him 
up  mighty  quick!  "I'll  write  him  to-morrow,  if  I've 
time,"  she  had  said.  At  the  moment,  the  sense  of 
achievement  had  exhilarated  her;  yet  now,  as  she  sat 
there  on  the  heap  of  scrap,  bending  a  pliant  boring  be 
tween  her  fingers,  her  pillar  of  fire  roaring  overhead  from 
the  chimneys  of  the  furnaces,  the  achievement  seemed 
flat  enough.  Why  should  she,  to  build  a  hospital  for  an 
other  woman's  son,  have  worked  so  hard  that  she  had 
never  had  time  to  notice  the  things  her  own  son  called 
"pretty"?  Not  his  china  beetles,  of  course,  or  truck 
like  that;  but  the  shimmering  flow  of  her  iron,— or  even 
that  picture,  for  which  she  was  out  of  pocket  $5,000. 

325 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I  can  see  you  might  call  it  pretty,  if  it  hadn't  cost  so 
much,"  she  admitted.  Yes,  she  had  worked,  she  told 
herself,  "as  hard  as  a  man,"  to  earn  money  for  Blair! — 
only  to  make  him  idle  and  to  have  him  say  that  thing 
about  her  clothes  which  Goose  Molly  had  said  before  he 
was  born.  "Wonder  if  I've  been  a  fool?  she  ruminated. 

It  was  at  that  moment  that  she  noticed,  at  one  side 
of  the  furnace,  between  two  bricks  of  the  hearth,  a  little 
puff  of  white  vapor;  instantly  she  leaped,  shouting,  to 
her  feet.  But  it  was  too  late.  The  molten  iron,  seeping 
down  through  some  crack  in  the  furnace,  creeping,  creep 
ing,  beneath  the  bricks  of  the  pavement,  had  reached 
some  moisture.  .  .  .  The  explosion,  the  clouds  of  scald 
ing  steam,  the  terror  of  the  flowing,  scattering  fire, 
drowned  her  voice  and  hid  her  frantic  gestures  of  warn 
ing.  .  .  . 

"Killed?"  she  said,  furiously,  as  some  one  helped  her 
up  from  the  scrap-heap  against  which  she  had  been 
hurled;  "of  course  not!  I  don't  get  killed."  Then 
suddenly  the  appalling  confusion  was  dominated  by  her 
voice : 

"Look  after  those  men." 

She  stood  there  in  the  center  of  the  horror,  reeling  a 
little  once  or  twice,  holding  her  skirt  up  over  her  left 
arm,  and  shouting  her  quick  orders.  "Hurt?"  she  said 
again  to  a  questioning  helper.  "I  don't  know.  I 
haven't  time  to  find  out.  That  man  there  is  alive !  Get 
a  doctor!"  She  did  not  leave  the  Works  until  two  badly 
burned  men  had  been  carried  away,  and  two  dead  bod 
ies  lifted  out  of  the  reek  of  steam  and  the  spatter  of 
half-chilled  metal.  Then,  still  holding  her  skirt  over 
her  arm,  she  went  alone,  in  the  darkness,  up  the  path  to 
her  back  door. 

"No!  I  don't  want  anybody  to  go  home  with  me," 
she  said,  angrily;  "look  after  things  here.  Notify  Mr. 
Ferguson.  I'll  come  back."  When  she  banged  open 
her  own  door,  she  had  only  one  question:  "Is — Nannie 

326 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

— all — right?"  Harris,  gaping  with  dismay,  and  stam 
mering,  "My  goodness!  yes'm;  yes'm!"  followed  her  to 
the  dining-room,  where  she  crashed  down  like  a  felled 
tree,  and  lay  unconscious  on  the  floor. 

When  she  began  to  come  to  herself,  a  doctor,  for  whom 
Harris  had  fled,  was  binding  up  her  torn  arm,  which, 
covered  with  blood,  and  black  with  grit  and  rust,  was 
an  ugly  sight.  "Where's  Blair?"  she  said,  thickly;  then 
came  entirely  to  her  senses,  and  demanded,  sharply, 
"Nannie  all  right?"  Reassured  again  on  this  point,  she 
looked  frowningly  at  the  doctor.  "Come,  hurry!  I 
want  to  get  back  to  the  Works." 

"Back  to  the  Works!  To-night?  Impossible!  You 
mustn't  think  of  such  a  thing,"  the  young  man  protested. 
Mrs.  Maitland  looked  at  him,  and  he  shifted  from  one 
foot  to  the  other.  "It — it  won't  do,  really,"  he  said, 
weakly;  "that  was  a  pretty  bad  knock  you  got  on  the 
back  of  your  head,  and  your  arm — " 

"Young  man,"  she  said,  "you  patch  this  up,  quick. 
I've  got  to  see  to  my  men.  That's  my  business.  You 
'tend  to  yours." 

"But  my  business  is  to  keep  you  here,"  he  told  her, 
essaying  to  be  humorous.  His  humor  went  out  like  a 
little  candle  in  the  wind:  "Your  business  is  to  put  on 
bandgages.  That's  all  I  pay  you  for." 

And  the  doctor  put  on  bandages  with  expedition.  In 
the  front  hall  he  spoke  to  Nannie.  "Your  mother  has 
a  very  bad  arm,  Miss  Maitland ;  and  that  violent  blow  on 
her  head  may  have  done  damage.  I  can't  tell  yet.  You 
must  make  her  keep  still." 

"Make! — Mamma?"  said  Nannie. 

"She  says  she's  going  over  to  the  Works,"  said  the 
doctor,  shrugging  his  shoulders;  "when  she  comes  home, 
get  her  to  bed  as  quickly  as  you  can.  I'll  come  in  and 
see  her  in  the  morning,  if  she  wants  me.  But  if  she 
won't  do  what  I  say  about  keeping  quiet,  I'd  rather  you 
called  in  other  advice." 

327 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

When  Nannie  tried  to  "make  Mamma"  keep  still,  the 
only  reply  she  received  was:  "You  showed  your  sense 
in  going  home,  my  dear!"  And  off  she  went,  Harris,  at 
Nannie's  instigation,  lurking  along  behind  her.  "If 
Herbert's  girl  had  been  hurt!"  she  said,  aloud,  staggering 
a  little  as  she  walked,  "my  God,  what  would  I  have 
done?" 

Afterward,  they  said  it  was  astounding  that  she  had 
been  able  to  go  back  to  the  Works  that  night.  She  must 
have  been  in  very  intense  pain.  When  she  came  home, 
the  pain  conquered  to  the  extent  of  sending  her,  at  mid 
night,  up  to  her  stepdaughter's  room;  she  was  red  with 
fever,  and  her  eyes  were  glassy.  "Got  any  laudanum, 
or  stuff  of  that  kind  ?"  she  demanded.  And  yet  the  next 
day,  when  the  bandages  had  been  changed  and  there  was 
some  slight  relief,  she  persisted  in  going  to  the  Works 
again.  But  the  third  day  she  gave  up,  and  attended  to 
her  business  in  the  dining-room. 

"If  only  Blair  would  come  home,"  Nannie  said,  "I 
think,  perhaps,  she  would  be  nice  to  him.  Haven't  you 
any  idea  where  he  is,  Elizabeth?" 

"Not  the  slightest,"  Elizabeth  said,  indifferently. 
She  herself  came  every  day,  and  performed  what  small 
personal  services  Mrs.  Maitland  would  permit.  Nannie 
did  not  amount  to  much  as  a  nurse,  but  she  was  really 
helpful  in  writing  letters,  signing  them  so  exactly  in 
Sarah  Maitland's  hand  that  her  stepmother  was  greatly 
diverted  at  her  proficiency.  "  I  shall  have  to  look  after 
my  check-book,"  she  said,  with  a  chuckle. 

It  was  not  until  a  week  later  that  they  began  to  be 
alarmed.  It  was  Harris  who  first  discovered  the  serious 
ness  of  her  condition;  when  he  did,  the  knowledge  came 
like  a  blow  to  her  household  and  her  office.  It  was  late 
in  the  afternoon.  Earlier  in  the  day  she  had  had  a  vio 
lent  chill,  during  which  she  sat  crouching  and  cowering 
over  the  dining-room  fire,  refusing  to  go  to  bed,  and  in  a 
temper  that  scared  Nannie  and  Harris  almost  to  death. 

328 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

When  the  chill  ceased,  she  went,  flushed  with  fever,  to 
her  own  room,  saying  she  was  "all  right,"  and  banging 
the  door  behind  her.  At  about  six,  when  Harris  knocked 
to  say  that  supper  was  ready,  she  came  out,  holding  the 
old  German  cologne  bottle  in  her  hand.  "He  gave  me 
that,"  she  said,  and  fondled  the  bottle  against  her  cheek; 
then,  suddenly  she  pushed  it  into  Harris's  face.  "Kiss 
it!"  she  commanded,  and  giggled  shrilly. 

Harris  jumped  back  with  a  screech.  "Gor!"  he  said; 
and  his  knees  hit  together.  The  slender  green  bottle 
fell  smashing  to  the  floor.  Mrs.  Maitland  started,  and 
caught  her  breath;  her  mind  cleared  instantly. 

"Clean  up  that  mess.  The  smell  of  the  cologne  takes 
my  breath  away.  I — I  didn't  know  I  had  it  in  my  hand." 

That  night  Elizabeth  sent  a  peremptory  letter  into 
space,  telling  Blair  that  his  mother  was  seriously  ill,  and 
he  really  ought  to  be  at  home.  But  he  had  left  the  hotel 
to  which  she  sent  it,  without  giving  any  address,  so  it 
lay  in  a  dusty  pigeonhole  awaiting  his  return  a  week 
later. 

The  delirium  came  again  the  next  day;  then  Sarah 
Maitland  cried,  because,  she  said,  Nannie  had  hidden  the 
Noah's  ark;  "and  Blair  and  I  want  to  play  with  it,"  she 
whined.  But  a  moment  afterward  she  looked  at  her 
stepdaughter  with  kind  eyes,  and  said,  as  she  had  said  a 
dozen  times  in  the  last  ten  days,  "  Lucky  you  went  home 
that  night,  my  dear." 

Of  course  by  this  time  the  alarm  was  general.  The 
young  doctor  was  supported,  at  Robert  Ferguson's  in 
sistence,  by  an  old  doctor,  who,  if  he  was  awed  by  his 
patient,  at  least  did  not  show  it.  He  was  even  coura 
geous  enough  to  bring  a  nurse  along  with  him. 

"  Miss  Baker  will  spare  your  daughter,"  he  said,  sooth 
ingly,  when  Sarah  Maitland,  seeing  the  strange  figure  in 
her  bedroom,  had  declared  she  wouldn't  have  a  fussing 
woman  about.  "Miss  Nannie  needs  help,"  the  doctor 
said.  Mrs.  Maitland  frowned,  and  yielded. 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

But  the  nurse  did  not  have  a  good  time.  In  her  stiffly 
starched  skirt,  with  her  little  cap  perched  on  her  head, 
she  went  fluttering  prettily  about,  watched  all  the  while 
by  the  somber,  half-shut  eyes.  She  moved  the  furniture, 
she  dusted  the  bureau,  she  arranged  the  little  row  of 
photographs;  and  then  she  essayed  to  smooth  Mrs. 
Maitland's  hair — it  was  the  last  straw.  The  big,  gray 
head  began  to  lift  slowly;  a  trembling  finger  pointed  at 
the  girl ;  there  was  only  one  word : 

"Stop." 

The  startled  nurse  stopped, — so  abruptly  that  she 
almost  lost  her  balance. 

"Clear  out.  You  can  sit  in  the  hall.  When  I  want 
you,  I'll  let  you  know." 

Miss  Baker  fled,  and  Mrs.  Maitland  apparently  forgot 
her.  When  the  doctor  came,  however,  she  roused  her 
self  to  say:  " I  won't  have  that  fool  girl  buzzing  round. 
I  don't  like  all  this  highfalootin'  business  of  nurses,  any 
how.  They  are  nothing  but  foolish  expense."  Perhaps 
that  last  word  stirred  some  memory,  for  she  added 
abruptly:  "Nannie,  bring  me  that — that  picture  you 
have  in  the  parlor.  The  Virgin  Mary,  you  know.  Rags 
of  popery,  but  I  want  to  look  at  it.  No;  I  can't  pay 
$5,000  for  14  x  1 8  inches  of  old  master,  and  hire  nurses 
to  curl  my  hair,  too!"  But  nobody  smiled  at  her 
joke. 

When  Nannie  brought  the  picture,  she  bade  her  put  it 
on  a  chair  by  the  bedside,  and  sometimes  the  two  girls 
saw  her  look  at  it  intently.  "  I  think  she  likes  the  child," 
Elizabeth  said,  in  a  low  voice;  but  Nannie  sighed,  and 
said,  "No;  she  is  provoked  because  Blair  was  extrav 
agant."  After  Miss  Baker's  banishment,  Elizabeth  did 
most  of  the  waiting  on  her,  for  Nannie's  anxious  tim 
idity  made  her  awkward  to  the  point  of  being,  as  Mrs. 
Maitland  expressed  it,  wearily,  "more  bother  than  she 
was  worth."  Once  she  asked  where  Blair  was,  and 
Elizabeth  said  that  nobody  knew.  "He  heard  of  some 

330 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

business  opening,  Mrs.  Maitland,  and  went  East  to  see 
about  it." 

"Went  East?  What  did  he  go  East  for ?  He's  got  a 
business  opening  at  home,  right  under  his  nose,"  she  said, 
thickly. 

After  that  she  did  not  ask  for  him.  But  from  her  bed 
in  her  own  room  she  could  see  the  dining-room  door, 
and  she  lay  there  watching  it,  with  expectation  smol 
dering  in  her  half-shut  eyes.  Once,  furtively,  when  no 
one  was  looking,  she  lifted  the  hem  of  the  sheet  with  her 
fumbling  right  hand  and  wiped  her  eyes.  For  the  next 
few  days  she  gained,  and  lost,  and  gained  again.  There 
were  recurrent  periods  of  lucidity,  followed  by  the  terri 
ble  childishness  that  had  been  the  first  indication  of  her 
condition.  At  the  end  of  the  next  week  she  suddenly 
said,  in  a  loud  voice,  "  I  won't  stay  in  bed !"  And  despite 
Nannie's  pleadings,  and  Miss  Baker's  agitated  flutter- 
ings,  she  got  up,  and  shuffled  into  the  dining-room;  she 
stood  there,  clutching  with  her  uninjured  hand  a  gray 
blanket  that  was  huddled  around  her  shoulders.  Her 
hair  was  hanging  in  limp,  disordered  locks  about  her 
face,  which  had  fallen  away  to  the  point  of  emaciation. 
She  was  leaning  against  the  table,  her  knees  shaking 
with  weakness.  But  it  was  evident  that  her  mind  was 
quite  clear.  "Bed  is  a  place  to  die  in,"  she  said;  "I'm 
well.  Let  me  alone.  I  shall  stay  here."  She  managed 
to  get  over  to  her  desk,  and  sank  into  the  revolving  chair 
with  a  sigh  of  relief.  "Ah!"  she  said,  "I'm  getting  out 
of  the  woods.  Harris!  Bring  me  something  to  eat." 
But  when  the  food  was  put  before  her,  she  could  not 
touch  it. 

Robert  Ferguson,  who  almost  lived  at  the  Maitland 
house  that  week,  told  her,  soothingly,  that  she  really 
ought  to  go  back  to  bed,  at  which  she  laughed  with  rough 
goodnature.  "  Don't  talk  baby-talk.  I'm  getting  well. 
But  I've  been  sick;  I've  had  a  scare;  so  I'm  going  to 
write  a  letter,  in  case —  Or  here,  you  write  it  for  me," 

33i 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"  To  Blair  ?"  he  said,  as  he  took  his  pen  out  of  his  pocket. 

"Blair?  No!  To  David  Richie  about  that  money. 
Don't  you  remember  I  told  you  I  was  going  to  give  him 
a  lot  of  money  for  a  hospital  ?  That  I  was  going  to  get 
a  certificate  of  deposit" — her  voice  wavered  and  she 
seemed  to  doze.  A  moment  later,  when  her  mind 
cleared  again,  her  superintendent  said,  with  some  effort : 
"Aren't  you  going  to  do  something  for  Blair?  You  will 
get  well,  I'm  sure,  but — in  case —  Your  will  isn't  fair 
to  the  boy;  you  ought  to  do  something  for  him." 

Instantly  she  was  alert:  "  I  have,  I've  done  the  best 
thing  in  the  world  for  him;  I've  thrown  him  on  his  own 
legs !  As  for  getting  well,  of  course  I'm  going  to  get  well, 
But  if  I  didn't,  everything  is  closed  up;  my  will's  made; 
Blair  is  sure  of  poverty.  Well;  I  guess  I  won't  have 
you  write  to  David  to-day;  I'm  tired.  When  I'm  out 
again,  I'll  tell  Howe  to  draw  up  a  paper  telling  him  just 
what  the  duties  of  a  trustee  are.  .  .  .  Why  don't  you 
.  .  .  why  don't  you  marry  his  mother,  and  be  done  with 
it  ?  I  hate  to  see  a  man  and  woman  shilly-shally." 

"She  won't  have  me,"  he  said,  good-naturedly;  in  his 
anxiety  he  was  willing  to  let  her  talk  of  anything,  merely 
to  amuse  her. 

"Well,  she's  a  nice  woman,"  Sarah  Maitland  said; 
"and  a  good  woman;  I  was  afraid  you  were  doing  the 
shilly-shallying.  And  any  man  who  would  hesitate  to 
take  her,  isn't  fit  to  black  her  boots.  Friend  Ferguson, 
I  have  a  contempt  for  a  man  who  is  more  particular  than 
his  Creator."  Robert  Ferguson  wondered  what  she  was 
driving  at,  but  he  would  not  bother  her  by  a  question. 

"What  was  that  I  used  to  say  about  her?"  the  sick 
woman  ruminated,  with  closed  eyes;  "'fair  and — 
What  was  it?  Forty?  No,  that  wasn't  it." 

"Fifty,"  he  suggested,  smiling. 

She  shook  her  head  peevishly.  "No,  that  wasn't  it. 
'Fair,  and,  and' — what  was  it?  It  puts  me  out  of  pa 
tience  to  forget  things !  '  Fair  and — -frail  /'  That  was  it ; 

332 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

frail!  'Fair  and  frail.'  "  She  did  not  pause  for  her  su 
perintendent's  gasp  of  protest.  "Yes;  first  time  I  saw 
her,  I  thought  there  was  a  nigger  in  the  woodpile.  She 
won't  marry  you,  friend  Ferguson,  because  she  has 
something  on  her  conscience.  Tell  her  I  say  not  to  be 
a  fool.  The  best  man  going  is  none  too  good  for  her!" 

Robert  Ferguson's  heart  gave  a  violent  plunge  in  his 
breast,  but  before  his  angry  denial  could  reach  her  brain, 
her  thought  had  wandered.  "No!  no!  no!  I  won't  go 
to  bed.  Bed  is  where  people  die."  She  got  up  from  her 
chair,  to  walk  about  and  show  how  well  she  was ;  but  when 
she  reached  the  center  of  the  room  she  seemed  to  crumple 
up,  sinking  and  sliding  down  on  to  the  floor,  her  back 
against  one  of  the  carved  legs  of  the  table.  Once  there, 
she  would  not  get  up.  She  became  so  violently  angry 
when  they  urged  her  to  let  them  help  her  to  her  feet, 
that  they  were  obliged  to  yield.  "  We  will  do  more  harm 
by  irritating  her,"  the  doctor  said,  "than  any  good  we 
could  accomplish  by  putting  her  back  to  bed  forcibly." 
So  they  put  cushions  behind  her,  and  there  she  sat,  star 
ing  with  dim,  expectant  eyes  at  the  dining-room  door; 
sometimes  speaking  with  stoical  endurance,  intelligently 
enough;  sometimes,  when  delirious,  whimpering  with 
the  pain  of  that  terrible  arm,  swollen  now  to  a  monstrous 
mass  of  agony. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  she  said  she  wanted  to  see  '  'that 
picture";  and  Elizabeth  knelt  beside  her,  holding  the 
little  dark  canvas  so  that  she  could  look  at  it;  she  sat 
staring  into  it  for  a  long  time.  "Mary  didn't  try  to 
keep  her  baby  from  the  cross,"  she  said,  suddenly; 
"well,  I've  done  better  than  that;  I  brought  the  cross 
to  my  baby."  Her  face  fell  into  wonderfully  peaceful 
lines.  Just  at  dusk  she  tried  to  sing. 

" '  Drink  to  me  only  with  thine  eyes '  ' 

she  quavered;  "my  boy  sings  that  beautifully.  I  must 
give  him  a  present.  A  check.  I  must  give  him  a  check." 

333 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

But  when  Nannie  said,  eagerly,  "  Blair  has  written  Eliza 
beth  that  he  will  be  at  home  to-morrow;  I'll  tell  him 
you  want  to  see  him;  and  oh,  Mamma,  won't  you  please 
be  nice  to  him?" — she  looked  perfectly  blank.  Toward 
morning  she  sat  silently  for  a  whole  hour  sucking  her 
thumb.  When,  abruptly,  she  came  to  herself  and  real 
ized  what  she  had  been  doing,  the  shamed  color  rose 
in  her  face.  Nannie,  kneeling  at  her  side,  caught  at  the 
flicker  of  intelligence  to  say,  "Mamma,  would  you  like  to 
see  the  Rev.  Mr.  Gore?  He  is  here;  waiting  in  the  par 
lor.  Sha'n't  I  bring  him  in  ?" 

Mrs.  Maitland  frowned.  "  What  does  he  come  for 
now?  I'm  sick.  I  can't  see  people.  Besides,  I  sent 
him  a  check  for  Foreign  Missions  last  month." 

"Oh,  Mamma!"  Nannie  said,  brokenly,  "he  hasn't 
come  for  money;  I — I  sent  for  him." 

Sarah  Maitland's  eyes  suddenly  opened;  her  mind 
cleared  instantly.  "Oh,"  she  said;  and  then,  slowly: 
"Um-m;  I  see."  She  seemed  to  meditate  a  moment; 
then  she  said,  gravely:  "No,  my  dear,  no;  I  won't  see 
little  Gore.  He's  a  good  little  man;  a  very  good  little 
man  for  missions  and  that  sort  of  thing.  But  when  it 
comes  to  this — "  she  paused;  "I  haven't  time  to  see 
to  him,"  she  said,  soberly.  A  minute  later,  noticing 
Nannie's  tears,  she  tried  to  cheer  her:  "Come,  come! 
don't  be  troubled,"  she  said,  smiling  kindly,  "I  can 
paddle  my  own  canoe,  my  dear."  After  that  she  was 
herself  for  nearly  half  an  hour.  Once  she  said,  "My 
house  is  in  order,  friend  Ferguson."  Then  she  lost  her 
self  again.  To  those  who  watched  her,  huddled  on  the 
heap  of  cushions,  mumbling  and  whimpering,  or  with  a 
jerk  righting  her  rnind  into  stony  endurance,  she  seemed 
like  a  great  tower  falling  and  crumbling  in  upon  itself. 
At  that  last  dreadful  touch  of  decay,  when  she  put  her 
thumb  in  her  mouth  like  a  baby,  her  stepdaughter 
nearly  fainted. 

All  that  night  the  mists  gathered,  and  thinned,  and 
334 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

gathered  again.  In  the  morning,  still  lying  on  the 
floor,  propped  against  all  the  pillows  and  cushions  of 
the  house,  she  suddenly  looked  with  clear  eyes  at  Nannie. 

"Why!"  she  said,  in  her  own  voice,  and  frowning 
sharply,  "that  certificate  of  deposit!  I  got  it  from  the 
Bank  the  day  of  the  accident,  but  I  haven't  indorsed  it! 
Lucky  I've  got  it  here  in  the  house.  Bring  it  to  me. 
It's  in  the  safe  in  my  desk.  Take  my  keys." 

Nannie,  who  for  the  moment  was  alone  with  her,  found 
the  key,  and  opening  the  little  iron  door  in  the  desk, 
brought  the  certificate  and  a  pen  dipped  in  ink;  but  even 
in  those  few  moments  of  preparation,  the  mist  had  begun 
to  settle  again:  "I  told  the  cashier  it  was  a  present  I 
was  going  to  make,"  she  chuckled  to  herself;  "said  he'd 
like  to  get  a  present  like  that.  I  reckon  he  would. 
Reckon  anybody  would."  Her  voice  lapsed  into  in 
coherent  murmurings,  and  Nannie  had  to  speak  to  her 
twice  before  her  eyes  were  intelligent  again;  then  she 
took  the  pen  and  wrote,  her  lips  faintly  mumbling: 
"  Pay  to  the  order  of — what's  the  date  ?"  she  said,  dully, 
her  eyes  almost  shut.  "Never  mind;  I  don't  have  to 
date  it.  But  I  was  thinking:  Blair  gave  me  a  calendar 
when  he  was  a  little  boy.  Blair — Blair — "  And  as  she 
spoke  his  name,  she  wrote  it:  "Blair  Maitland."  But 
just  as  she  did  so,  her  mind  cleared,  and  she  saw  what 
she  had  written.  "  Blair  Maitland  ?"  she  said,  and  smiled 
and  shook  her  head.  "Oh,  I've  written  that  name  too 
many  times.  Too  many  times.  Got  the  habit."  She 
lifted  her  pen  heavily,  perhaps  to  draw  it  through  the 
name,  but  her  hand  sagged. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  sign  it,  Mamma  ?"  Nannie  asked, 
breathlessly;  and  her  stepmother  turned  faintly  sur 
prised  eyes  upon  her.  Nannie,  kneeling  beside  her,  urged 
again:  "Mamma,  you  want  to  give  it  to  Blair!  Try, 
do  try — "  But  she  did  not  hear  her. 

At  noon  that  day,  through  the  fogged  and  clogging 
senses,  there  was  another  outburst  of  the  soul.  They 

22  335 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

had  been  trying  to  give  her  some  medicine,  and  each 
time  she  had  refused  it,  moving  her  head  back  and  side- 
wise,  and  clenching  her  teeth  against  the  spoon.  Over 
and  over  the  stimulant  was  urged  and  forced  upon  her; 
when  suddenly  her  eyes  flashed  open  and  she  looked  at 
them  with  the  old  powei  that  had  made  people  obey  her 
all  her  life.  The  mind  had  been  insulted  by  its  body 
beyond  endurance;  she  lifted  her  big  right  hand  and 
struck  the  spoon  from  the  doctor's  fingers:  "/  have  the 
right  to  die" 

Then  the  flame  fluttered  down  again  into  the  ashes. 

When  Blair  reached  the  house  that  afternoon,  she  was 
unconscious.  Once,  at  a  stab  of  pain,  she  burst  out 
crying  with  fretful  wildness;  and  once  she  put  her 
thumb  into  her  mouth. 

At  six  o'clock  that  night  she  died. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

WHEN  the  doctor  came  to  tell  Nannie  that  Sarah  Mait- 
land  was  dead,  he  found  her  in  the  parlor,  shivering  up 
against  her  brother.  Blair  had  come  to  his  mother's 
house  early  that  afternoon;  a  note  from  Elizabeth,  await 
ing  him  at  the  River  House,  had  told  him  of  the  gravity 
of  Mrs.  Maitland's  condition,  and  bidden  him  "come  in 
stantly."  As  he  read  it,  his  face  grew  tense.  "  Of  course 
I  must  go,"  he  said;  but  there  was  no  softening  in  his 
eyes.  In  all  these  months,  in  which  his  mother's  de 
termination  had  shown  no  weakening,  his  anger  had 
deepened  into  the  bitterest  animosity.  Yet  curiously 
enough,  though  he  hated  her  more,  he  disliked  her 
less.  Perhaps  because  he  thought  of  her  as  a  Force 
rather  than  as  a  mother;  a  power  he  was  fighting — 
force  against  force!  And  the  mere  sense  of  the  grapple 
gave  him  a  feeling  of  equality  with  her  which  he  had 
never  had.  Or  it  may  have  been  merely  that  his  eyes 
and  ears  did  not  suffer  constant  offense  from  her  pecu 
liarities.  He  had  not  forgotten  the  squalor  of  the  pecu 
liarities,  but  they  did  not  strike  him  daily  in  the  face,  so 
hate  was  not  made  poignant  by  disgust.  But  neither 
was  it  lessened  by  the  possibility  of  her  death. 

"  I  wonder  if  she  has  changed  her  will  ?"  he  said  to  him 
self,  with  fierce  curiosity.  But  whether  she  had  done  so 
or  not,  propriety  demanded  his  presence  in  her  house  if 
she  were  dying.  As  for  anything  more  than  propriety, — 
well,  if  by  destroying  her  iniquitous  will  she  had  showed 
proper  maternal  affection,  he  would  show  proper  filial 
solicitude.  It  struck  him,  as  he  stepped  into  a  carriage 

337 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  drive  down  to  Shantytown,  that  such  an  attitude  of 
mind  on  his  part  was  pathetic  for  them  both.  "She 
never  cared  for  me,"  he  thought;  and  he  knew  he  had 
never  cared  for  her.  Yes,  it  was  pathetic;  if  he  could 
have  had  for  a  mother  such  a  woman  as —  he  frowned; 
he  would  not  name  David  Richie's  mother  even  in  his 
thoughts.  But  if  he  could  have  had  a  gentle  and  gracious 
woman  for  a  mother,  how  he  would  have  loved  her !  He 
had  always  been  motherless,  he  thought;  it  was  not  to 
day  which  would  make  him  so.  Still,  it  was  strangely 
shaking,  this  idea  of  her  death.  When  Nannie  came 
into  the  parlor  to  greet  him,  he  was  silent  while  she  told 
him,  shivering  and  crying,  the  story  of  the  last  two 
weeks. 

"She  hasn't  been  conscious  since  noon,"  she  ended, 
"but  she  may  call  for  you;  and  oh,  if  she  does,  Blair, 
you  will  be  lovely  to  her,  won't  you?" 

His  grave  silence  seemed  an  assent. 

"Will  you  go  in  and  see  her?"  she  said,  weeping. 
But  Blair,  with  the  picture  she  had  given  him  of  that 
awful  figure  lying  on  the  floor,  shook  his  head. 

"I  will  wait  here. — I  could  not  bear  to  see  it,"  he 
added,  shuddering. 

"Elizabeth  is  with  her,"  Nannie  said,  "so  I'll  stay  a 
little  while  with  you.  I  don't  believe  it  will  be  before 
morning." 

Now  and  then  they  spoke  in  whispers;  but  for  the 
most  part  they  were  silent,  listening  to  certain  sinister 
sounds  that  came  from  the  room  across  the  hall. 

It  was  a  warm  May  twilight;  above  the  gaunt  outline 
of  the  foundry,  the  dim  sickle  of  a  young  moon  hung  in  a 
daffodil  sky;  the  river,  running  black  between  banks  of 
slag  and  cinders,  caught  the  sheen  of  gold  and  was  trans 
figured  into  glass  mingled  with  fire.  Through  the  open 
windows,  the  odor  of  white  lilacs  and  the  acrid  sweetness 
of  the  blossoming  plum-tree,  floated  into  the  room.  The 
gas  was  not  lighted;  sometimes  the  pulsating  flames, 

338 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

roaring  out  sidewise  from  under  the  half-shut  dampers 
of  the  great  chimneys,  lighted  the  dusk  with  a  red  glare, 
and  showed  Blair's  face  set  in  new  lines.  He  had  never 
been  so  near  the  great  Reality  before;  never  been  in  a 
house  where,  on  the  threshold,  Death  was  standing;  his 
personal  affairs,  angers  or  anxieties,  dropped  out  of  his 
mind.  So  sitting  and  listening  and  not  speaking,  the 
doctor  found  them. 

"She  has  gone,"  he  said,  solemnly.  Nannie  began  to 
cry;  Blair  stood  up,  then  walked  to  the  window  and 
looked  out  at  the  Yards.  Dead?  For  a  moment  the 
word  had  no  meaning.  Then,  abruptly,  the  old,  ele 
mental  meaning  struck  him  like  a  blow;  that  meaning 
which  the  animal  in  us  knows,  before  we  know  the  ac 
quired  meanings  which  grief  and  faith  have  put  into  the 
word:  his  mother  "was  not."  It  was  incredible!  He 
gasped  as  he  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out  over  the 
blossoming  lilacs  at  the  Works,  black  against  a  fading 
saffron  sky.  Ten  minutes  ago  his  mother  was  in  the 
other  room,  owning  those  Works;  now — ?  The  sheer 
impossibility  of  imagining  the  cessation  of  such  a  person 
ality  filled  him  with  an  extraordinary  dismay.  He  was 
conscious  of  a  bewildered  inability  to  believe  what  had 
been  said  to  him. 

Mr.  Ferguson,  who  had  been  with  Sarah  Maitland  when 
the  end  came,  followed  the  doctor  into  the  parlor;  but 
neither  he  nor  Blair  remembered  personalities.  They 
stood  together  now,  listening  to  what  the  doctor  was 
saying;  Blair,  still  dazed  and  unbelieving,  put  his  arm 
round  Nannie  and  said,  "Don't  cry,  dear;  Mr.  Ferguson, 
tell  her  not  to  cry!"  And  the  older  man  said,  "Make  her 
sit  down,  Blair;  she  looks  a  little  white."  Both  of  them 
had  forgotten  individual  resentments  or  embarrassments. 

When  some  people  die,  it  is  as  if  a  candle  flame  were 
gently  blown  out;  but  when,  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hall,  this  big  woman  lay  dead  on  the  floor,  it  seemed  to 
the  people  who  stood  by  as  if  the  whole  machinery  of 

339 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

life  had  stopped.  It  was  so  absorbing  in  its  astonish 
ment  that  everything  else  became  simple.  Even  when 
Elizabeth  entered,  and  came  to  put  her  arms  around 
Nannie,  Blair  hardly  noticed  her.  As  the  doctor  and 
Robert  Ferguson  spoke  together  in  low  tones,  of  terrible 
things  they  called  "arrangements,''  Sarah  Maitland's 
son  listened,  and  tried  to  make  himself  understand  that 
they  were  talking  of — his  mother! 

"I  shall  stay  until  everything  has  been  done,"  Mr. 
Ferguson  said,  after  the  doctor  left  them.  "  Blair,  you 
and  Elizabeth  will  be  here,  of  course,  to-night  ?  Or  else 
I'll  stay.  Nannie  mustn't  be  alone." 

Blair  nodded.  "Of  course,"  he  said.  At  which 
Nannie,  who  had  been  crying  softly  to  herself,  suddenly 
looked  up. 

"  I  would  rather  be  by  myself.  I  don't  want  any  one 
here.  Please  go  home  with  Elizabeth,  Blair.  Please!" 

"But  Nannie  dear,  I  want  to  stay,"  Blair  began, 
gently;  she  interrupted  him,  almost  hysterically: 

"No!  Please!  It  troubles  me.  I  would  rather  you 
didn't.  I — I  want  to  be  alone." 

"Well,"  Blair  said,  vaguely;  he  was  too  dazed  to 
protest. 

Robert  Ferguson  yielded  too,  though  with  a  little 
surprise  at  her  vehemence.  Then  he  turned  to  Blair; 
"I'll  give  you  some  telegrams  that  must  be  sent,"  he  said, 
in  the  old  friendly  voice.  It  was  only  when  he  wrote 
a  despatch  to  David's  mother  that  the  world  was  sud 
denly  adjusted  to  its  old  levels  of  anger  and  contempt. 
"I'll  send  this  myself,"  he  said,  coldly.  Blair,  with 
instant  intuition,  replied  as  coldly,  "Oh,  very  well." 

He  and  Elizabeth  went  back  to  the  hotel  in  silence, 
each  deeply  shaken  by  the  mere  physical  fact  of  death. 
When  they  reached  the  gloomy  granite  columns  of  the 
old  River  House,  Blair  left  his  wife,  saying  briefly  some 
thing  about  "walking  for  a  while."  He  wanted  to  be 
alone.  This  was  not  because  he  felt  any  lack  of  sym- 

34o 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

pathy  in  Elizabeth;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  nearer  to 
her  than  at  any  time  since  their  marriage ;  but  it  was  a 
moment  that  demanded  solitude.  So  he  wandered  about 
Mercer's  streets  by  himself  until  after  midnight — down 
to  the  old  covered  bridge,  past  Mrs.  Todd's  ice-cream 
saloon,  out  into  the  country,  where  the  wind  was  rising, 
and  the  tree-tops  had  begun  to  sway  against  the  sky. 

There  is  a  bond,  it  appears,  between  mother  and  child 
which  endures  as  long  as  they  do.  It  is  independent  of 
love;  reason  cannot  weaken  it;  hate  cannot  destroy  it. 
When  a  man's  mother  dies,  something  in  the  man  dies, 
too.  Blair  Maitland,  walking  aimlessly  about  in  the 
windy  May  midnight,  standing  on  the  bridge  watching 
the  slipping  twinkle  of  a  star  in  the  inky  ripples  below 
him,  was  vaguely  conscious  of  this.  He  thought,  with  a 
reluctance  that  was  almost  repulsion,  of  her  will.  He  did 
not  want  to  think  of  it,  it  was  not  fitting!  Yet  he  knew, 
back  in  his  mind,  that  within  a  few  days,  as  soon  as 
decency  permitted,  he  would  take  the  necessary  steps 
to  contest  it.  Nor  did  he  think  definitely  of  her;  cer 
tainly  not  of  all  the  unbeautiful  things  about  her,  those 
acute,  incessant  trivialities  of  ugliness  which  had  been 
a  veil  between  them  all  his  life.  Now,  the  veil  was  rent, 
and  behind  it  was  a  holy  of  holies, — the  inviolable  re 
lation  of  the  child  and  the  mother.  It  was  of  this  that 
he  thought,  inarticulately,  as  he  stood  on  the  bridge, 
listening  to  the  rush  of  the  wind;  this,  and  the  bare  and 
unbelievable  fact  that  she  "was  not."  As  he  struggled 
to  realize  her  death,  he  was  aware  of  a  curious  uneasiness 
that  was  almost  fright. 

When  he  came  to  Nannie  the  next  morning,  he  was 
still  deeply  absorbed ;  and  when  she  put  something  into 
his  hands  and  said  it  was  from  his  mother,  he  suddenly 
wept. 

They  had  respected  Nannie's  desire  to  be  alone  that 
night,  but  it  was  nearly  twelve  before  she  was  really 

341 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

left  to  herself,  and  the  house  was  silent.  Robert  Fergu 
son  had  made  her  go  up-stairs  to  bed,  and  bidden  the 
worn-out  nurse  sleep  in  the  room  next  to  her  so  that  she 
would  not  be  so  entirely  solitary.  He  himself  did  not 
go  home  until  those  soft  and  alien  footsteps  that  cross  our 
thresholds,  and  dare  as  business  the  offices  that  Love 
may  not  essay,  had  at  last  died  away.  Nannie,  in  her 
bedroom,  sat  wide-eyed,  listening  for  those  footsteps. 
Once  she  said  to  herself:  " When  they  have  gone — "  and 
her  heart  pounded  in  her  throat.  At  last  "they"  went; 
she  heard  the  front  door  close;  then,  out  in  the  street, 
another  door  banged  softly;  after  that  there  was  the 
sound  of  wheels. 

"Now!"  she  said  to  herself.  But  still  she  did  not 
move.  .  .  .  Was  the  nurse  asleep  ?  Was  Harris  up  in 
his  room  in  the  garret?  Was  there  any  one  down 
stairs — except  Death?  Death  in  Mrs.  Maitland's  bed- 
room.  "  For  God's  sake,  lock  her  door!"  Harris  had  said. 
And  they  locked  it.  We  generally  lock  it.  Heaven 
knows  why!  Why  do  we  turn  the  key  on  that  poor, 
broken,  peaceful  thing,  as  if  it  might  storm  out  in  the 
night,  and  carry  us  back  with  it  into  its  own  silence? 

It  was  almost  dawn — the  high  spring  dawn  that  in 
May  flushes  even  Mercer's  skies  at  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  when,  lamp  in  hand,  Nannie  Maitland  opened 
her  bedroom  door  and  peered  into  the  upper  hall.  Out 
side,  the  wind,  which  had  begun  to  blow  at  sunset,  was 
roaring  around  the  old  house;  it  rumbled  in  the  chim 
neys,  and  a  sudden  gust  tore  at  a  loose  shutter,  and  sent 
it  banging  back  against  the  bricks.  But  in  the  house 
everything  was  still.  The  window  over  the  front  door 
was  an  arch  of  glimmering  gray  barred  by  the  lines  of  the 
casement ;  but  toward  the  well  of  the  staircase  there  was 
nothing  but  darkness.  Nannie  put  a  hesitating  foot 
across  her  own  threshold,  paused,  then  came  gliding 
out  into  the  hall;  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  she  looked 
down  into  a  gulf  of  still  blackness;  the  close,  warm  air 

342 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

of  the  house  seemed  to  press  against  her  face.  She 
listened  intently:  no  sound,  except  the  muttering  in 
difference  of  the  wind  about  the  house.  Slowly,  step 
by  step,  shivering  and  shrinking,  she  began  to  creep 
down-stairs.  At  the  closed  door  of  the  dining-room — 
next  to  that  other  room  which  Harris  had  bidden  them 
lock  up;  she  stood  for  a  long  time,  her  fingers  trembling 
on  the  knob;'  her  lamp,  shaking  in  her  hand,  cast  a 
nimbus  of  light  around  her  small  gray  figure.  It  seemed 
to  her  as  if  she  could  not  turn  that  knob.  Then,  with 
gasp  of  effort,  it  was  done,  and  she  entered.  Her  first 
look  was  at  that  place  on  the  floor,  where  for  the  last  two 
days  the  pillows  had  been  piled.  The  pillows  were  not 
there  now;  the  room  was  in  new,  bleak  order.  In 
stantly,  after  that  shrinking  glance  at  the  floor,  she 
looked  toward  Mrs.  Maitland's  room,  and  her  hand  went 
to  her  throat  as  if  she  could  not  breathe.  A  moment 
afterward  she  began  to  creep  across  the  floor,  one  ter 
rified  step  dragging  after  another;  she  walked  sidewise, 
always  keeping  her  head  turned  toward  that  silent  room. 
Just  as  she  reached  the  big  desk,  the  wind,  sucking  under 
the  locked  door,  shook  it  with  sly  insinuation; — in 
stantly  she  wheeled  about,  and  stood,  swaying  with 
fright,  her  back  against  the  desk.  She  stood  there,  pant 
ing,  for  a  full  minute.  The  terror  of  that  furtively 
shaken  door  was  agonizing.  Then,  very  slowly,  with  a 
sidewise  motion  so  that  she  could  look  toward  the  room, 
she  put  her  lamp  down  on  the  top  of  the  desk,  and  began, 
with  constant  bird-like  glances  over  her  shoulder,  to 
search.  .  .  .  Yes;  there  it  was!  just  where  she  herself 
had  put  it,  slipped  between  the  pages  of  a  memorandum- 
book,  so  that  if,  in  another  gleam  of  consciousness,  Blair's 
mother  should  ask  for  it,  there  need  be  no  delay  in  getting 
it.  When  her  fingers  closed  on  it,  she  turned,  swiftly, 
so  that  the  room  might  not  be  behind  her.  Always 
watching  the  locked  door,  she  groped  for  pen  and  ink 
and  some  sheets  of  paper,  which  she  carried  over  to  the 

343 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

table.  .  Then  she  drew  up  a  chair,  folded  back  the  sleeves 
of  her  wrapper,  propped  the  memorandum-book — which 
had  on  the  inside  page  the  flowing  signature  of  its  owner 
— open  before  her.  Then,  slowly  and  steadily,  she 
began  to  do  the  thing  she  had  come  to  do.  Instantly 
she  was  calmer.  When  a  great  gust  of  wind  rumbled 
suddenly  in  the  chimney,  and  a  wraith  of  ashes  blew 
out  of  the  fireplace,  she  did  not  even  raise  her  eyes;  but 
once  she  looked  over  toward  the  room,  and  smiled,  as 
if  to  say  "  It  is  all  right.  I  am  making  it  all  right!" 

It  took  her  a  long  time,  this  business  that  would  make 
it  ''all  right,"  this  business  that  brought  her,  a  creature 
who  all  her  life  had  been  afraid  of  her  own  shadow,  creep 
ing  down  to  the  dining-room,  creeping  past  the  room  into 
which  Death  had  been  locked,  creeping  over  to  the  desk, 
to  that  unsigned  indorsement  which  had  been  meant  for 
Blair!  It  took  a  long  time.  Sheet  after  sheet  of  paper 
was  scrawled  over,  held  up  beside  the  name  in  the  note 
book,  then  tossed  into  the  empty  grate.  At  last  she 
did  it : 

Sarah  Maitland 

When  she  had  finished,  her  relief,  in  having  done  what 
she  could  to  carry  out  the  purpose  of  the  dying  hand,  was 
so  great  that  she  was  able,  without  once  looking  over  her 
shoulder,  to  put  the  pen  and  ink  back  into  the  desk  and 
set  a  match  to  the  papers  in  the  fireplace.  Indeed,  as  she 
took  up  her  lamp  to  creep  up-stairs  again,  she  even 
stopped  and  touched  the  knob  of  the  locked  door  with  a 
sort  of  caress. 

But  when,  with  a  last  breathless  rush  across  the  upper 
hall,  she  regained  her  own  room,  she  bolted  her  door  with 
furious  panic-stricken  hands,  then  sank,  almost  fainting, 
upon  her  bed. 


SHE      WHEELED       ABOUT      AND      STOOD.       SWAYING      WITH       FRIGHT 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE  Maitland  Works  were  still.  High  in  the  dusty 
gloom  of  the  foundry,  a  finger  of  sunshine  pointing  down 
from  a  grimy  window  touched  the  cold  lip  of  a  cupola 
and  traveled  noiselessly  over  rows  of  empty  molds  upon 
the  blackened  floor.  The  cast-house  was  silent.  The 
Yards  were  deserted.  The  pillar  of  fire  was  out;  the 
pillar  of  smoke  had  faded  away. 

In  the  darkened  parlor  of  her  great  house,  Sarah  Mait 
land  was  still,  too.  Lines  of  sunshine  fell  between  the 
bowed  shutters,  and  across  them  wavering  motes  swam 
noiselessly  from  gloom  to  gloom.  The  marble  serenities 
of  death  were  without  sound;  the  beautiful,  powerless 
hands  were  empty,  even  of  the  soft  futility  of  flowers; 
some  one  had  placed  lilies-of-the-valley  in  them,  but  her 
son,  with  new,  inarticulate  appreciation,  lifted  them  and 
took  them  away.  The  only  sound  that  broke  the  dusky 
stillness  of  the  room  was  the  subdued  brush  of  black 
garments,  or  an  occasional  sigh,  or  the  rustle  of  a  fur 
tively  turned  page  of  a  hymn-book.  Except  when, 
standing  shoulder  to  shoulder  in  the  hall,  her  business 
associates,  with  hats  held  decorously  before  whispering 
lips,  spoke  to  each  other  of  her  power  and  her  money, — 
who  now  had  neither  money  nor  power, — the  house  was 
profoundly  still.  Then,  suddenly,  from  the  head  of  the 
stairs,  a  Voice  fell  into  the  quietness : 

"  Lord,  let  me  know  mine  end  and  the  number  of  my  days, 
that  I  may  be  certified  how  long  I  have  to  live.  When  thou 
with  rebukes  dost  chasten  man  for  sin,  thou  makest  his 
beauty  to  consume  away,  like  as  it  were  a  moth  fretting 

345 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

a  garment:  every  man,  therefore,  is  vanity.  For  man 
walketh  in  a  vain  show,  and  disquieteth — "  the  engine 
of  a  passing  freight  coughed,  and  a  cloud  of  smoke 
billowed  against  the  windows;  the  strips  of  sunshine 
falling  between  the  shutters  were  blotted  out;  came  again 
— went  again.  Over  and  over  the  raucous  running  jolt 
of  backing  cars,  the  rattling  bump  of  sudden  breaks, 
swallowed  up  the  voice,  declaring  the  eternal  silence: 
'  .  .  .  glory  of  the  celestial  is  one,  and  the  glory  of  the 
terrestrial  is  .  .  .  of  the  sun,  and  another  glory  of  the 
moon,  for  one  star  differeth  from  .  .  .  Dust  to  dust,  ashes 
to  ashes  ..." 

Out  in  the  street  the  shadow  of  her  house  fell  across  the 
meager  dooryard,  where,  on  its  blackened  stems,  the 
pyrus  japonica  showed  some  scattered  blood-red  blos 
soms;  it  fell  over  Shantytown,  that  packed  the  sidewalk 
and  stared  from  dingy  doors  and  windows;  it  fell  on  her 
men,  standing  in  unrebuked  idleness,  their  lowered  voices 
a  mutter  of  energy  held,  for  this  waiting  moment,  in 
leash.  A  boy  who  had  climbed  up  the  lamp-post  an 
nounced  shrilly  that  "It"  was  coming.  Some  girls, 
pressing  against  the  rusted  iron  spears  of  the  fence,  and 
sagging  under  the  weight  of  babies  almost  as  big  as 
themselves,  called  across  the  street  to  their  mothers, 
"Here  she  is!" 

And  so  she  came.  No  squalor  of  her  surroundings 
could  mar  the  pomp  of  her  approach.  The  rumble  of  her 
men's  voices  ceased  before  it;  Shantytown  fell  silent. 
Out  from  between  the  marble  columns  of  her  doorway, 
out  from  under  the  twisted  garland  of  wistaria  murmur 
ous  with  bees,  down  the  curving  steps,  along  the  path  to 
the  crowded,  curious  sidewalk,  she  came.  Out  of  the 
turmoil  and  the  hurry  of  her  life,  out  of  her  triumphs  and 
arrogances  and  ambitions,  out  of  her  careless  generosities 
and  her  extraordinary  successes,  she  came.  And  follow 
ing  her,  with  uncovered  head,  came  the  sign  and  symbol 
of  her  failure — her  only  son. 

346 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Up-stairs,  in  the  front  hall,  standing  a  little  back  from 
the  wide  arched  window,  Nannie, — forbidden  by  the  doc 
tor,  because  of  her  fatigue,  to  go  to  the  grave;  and  Eliz 
abeth  and  Miss  White,  who  would  not  leave  her  alone, — 
looked  down  on  the  slowly  moving  crowd.  When  Sarah 
Maitland's  men  closed  in  behind  her,  nearly  a  thousand 
strong,  and  the  people  in  twos  and  threes  began  to  file  out 
of  the  house,  Nannie  noiselessly  turned  a  slat  of  the 
Venetian  blind.  Why!  there  were  those  Maitlands  from 
the  North  End.  "I  didn't  suppose  they  remembered 
our  existence,"  she  said,  her  breath  still  catching  in  a 
sob;  "and  there  are  the  Knights,"  she  whispered  to 
Elizabeth.  "Do  you  see  old  Mrs.  Knight?  I  don't  be 
lieve  she's  been  to  call  on  Mamma  for  ten  years.  I 
never  supposed  she'd  come." 

Miss  White,  wiping  her  eyes  as  she  peered  furtively 
through  the  blinds,  said  in  a  whisper  that  there  was  So- 
and-so,  and  that  such  and  such  a  person  was  evidently 
going  out  to  the  cemetery.  "Mrs.  Knight  is  dreadfully 
lame,  isn't  she?"  Nannie  said.  "Poor  Mamma  always 
called  her  Goose  Molly.  It  was  nice  in  her  to  come, 
wasn't  it?" 

"Nannie,"  some  one  said,  softly.  And  turning,  she 
saw  Mrs.  Richie.  "I  came  on  last  night,  Nannie  dear. 
She  was  a  good,  kind  friend  to  me.  And  David  is  here, 
too.  He  hopes  you  will  feel  like  seeing  him.  He  was 
very  fond  of  her. ' '  Then  she  looked  at  Elizabeth :  ' '  How 
do  you  do  ?  How  is  Blair  ?"  she  said,  calmly. 

The  moment  was  tense,  yet  of  the  four  women,  Eliza 
beth  felt  it  least.  David  was  in  the  house!  She  could 
not  feel  anything  else. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Richie — poor  Mamma!"  Nannie  said;  and 
with  Mrs.  Richie's  kind  arm  about  her,  she  retreated  to 
her  own  room. 

Miss  White  went  hurrying  down-stairs — Elizabeth 
knew  why!  As  for  her,  she  stood  there  in  the  empty 
hall,  quite  alone.  She  heard  the  carriage  doors  closing 

347 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

out  in  the  street,  the  sound  of  horses'  feet,  the  drag  of 
wheels — even  the  subdued  murmur  of  Shantytown  look 
ing  on  at  the  show.  .  .  .  David  was  in  the  house. 

She  went  to  the  end  of  the  hall  and  stood  leaning  over 
the  banisters;  she  could  hear  Miss  White's  flurried  voice; 
then,  suddenly,  he  spoke.  It  was  only  some  grave  word, 
— she  did  not  catch  the  sense  of  it,  but  the  sound — the 
sound  of  his  voice!  It  turned  her  dizzy.  Before  she 
knew  it  she  sank  down  on  the  top  step  of  the  stairs,  her 
head  against  the  banisters.  She  sat  there,  her  face 
haggard  with  unshed  tears,  until  Mrs.  Richie  came  out 
of  Nannie's  room  and  found  her.  It  was  then  that 
David's  mother,  who  thought  she  had  done  her  best  in 
the  courteous  commonplace  of  how-do-you-do — suddenly 
did  better;  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  Elizabeth's 
cheek. 

"You  poor  child!"  she  said;  "oh,  you  poor  child!" 
The  pity  of  the  slender,  crouching  figure  touched  even 
Helena  Richie's  heart, — that  heart  of  passionate  and  re 
sentful  maternity;  so  she  was  able  to  kiss  her,  and  say, 
with  wet  eyes,  "poor  child!" 

Elizabeth  could  not  speak.  Later,  when  the  mother 
and  son  had  left  the  house,  Miss  White  came  up-stairs  and 
found  her  still  sitting  dumb  and  tearless,  on  the  top  step. 
She  clutched  at  Cherry-pie's  skirt  with  shaking  hands: 
"Did  he  say — anything?" 

"Oh,  my  poor  lamb,"  old  Miss  White  said,  nibbling 
and  crying,  "how  could  he,  here?" 

David,  coming  with  his  mother  over  the  mountains  to 
be  present  at  Mrs.  Maitland's  funeral,  thought  to  himself 
how  strange  it  was  that  it  had  taken  death  to  bring  him 
to  Mercer.  In  all  those  long  months  of  bewildered  effort 
to  adjust  himself  to  the  altered  conditions  of  life,  there 
had  been  an  undercurrent  of  purpose :  he  would  see  Eliza 
beth.  He  would  know  from  her  own  lips  just  how  things 
were  with  her.  It  seemed  to  David  that  if  he  could  do 

348 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

that,  if  he  could  know  beyond  doubt — or  hope — that  she 
was  happy,  he  would  himself  be  cured  of  the  incessant, 
dull  ache  of  remorse,  which  quickened  sometimes  into  the 
stabbing  suspicion  that  she  had  never  really  love.d  him. 
...  If  she  was  happy,  then  he  need  no  longer  blame 
himself  for  injuring  her.  The  injury  he  had  done  himself, 
he  must  bear,  as  men  before  him  had  borne,  and  as  men 
after  him  would  bear,  the  results  of  their  own  sins  and 
follies.  He  had,  of  course,  long  since  lost  the  wincing 
self-consciousness  of  the  jilted  man,  just  as  he  had  lost 
the  expectation  that  she  would  send  for  him,  summon 
him  to  storm  her  prison  and  carry  her  away  to  freedom ! 
That  was  a  boy's  thought,  anyhow.  It  was  when  that 
hope  had  completely  faded,  that  he  began  to  say  he  must 
see  for  himself  that  she  was  happy  and  that  she  did  not 
wish  to  leave  the  man  who  had,  at  any  rate,  been  man 
enough  to  take  her,  and  whom  now,  very  likely,  she  loved. 
It  was  the  uncertainty  about  her  happiness  that  was  so 
intolerable  to  him.  Far  more  intolerable,  he  thought, 
than  would  be  the  knowledge  that  she  was  content, 
for  that  he  would  deserve,  and  to  the  honest  mind 
there  is  a  certain  satisfaction  in  receiving  its  deserts. 
But  his  hatred  of  Blair  deepened  a  little  at  the  mere 
suggestion  of  her  contentment.  Those  evil  moments  of 
suspecting  her  loyalty  to  him  at  the  time  of  her  marriage 
were  very  rare  now;  though  the  evil  moments  of  specu 
lating  as  to  how  God — or  he  himself,  would  finally 
punish  Blair  Maitland,  were  as  frequent  as  ever. 
During  the  last  six  months  the  desire  to  know  how 
things,  were  with  Elizabeth  had  been  at  times  almost 
overwhelming.  Once  he  went  so  far  as  to  buy  his  rail 
road  ticket;  but  though  his  feet  carried  him  to  the  train, 
his  mind  drove  him  away  from  it,  and  the  ticket  was 
not  used.  But  when  the  news  came  of  Sarah  Maitland's 
death,  he  went  immediately  to  the  station  and  engaged 
his  berth.  Then  he  went  home  and  asked  his  mother 
if  she  were  going  to  the  funeral;  "1  am,"  he  said.  He 

349 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

spoke  with  affection  of  Mrs.  Maitland,  but  so  far  as  his 
going  to  Mercer  went,  her  funeral  was  entirely  inciden 
tal.  Her  death  had  ended  his  uncertainty:  he  would 
see  Elizabeth! 

"And  when  I  see  her,"  he  said  to  himself,  "the  mo 
ment  I  see  her, — I  will  know."  He  debated  with  himself 
whether  he  should  speak  of  the  catastrophe  of  their  lives, 
or  wait  for  her  to  do  so.  As  he  thought  of  putting  it  into 
words,  he  was  aware  of  singular  shyness,  which  showed 
him  with  startling  distinctness  how  far  apart  he  and  she 
were.  Just  how  and  when  he  would  see  her  he  had  not 
decided;  probably  it  could  not  be  on  the  day  Mrs.  Mait 
land  was  buried ;  but  the  next  day  ?  "  How  shall  I  man 
age  it?"  he  asked  himself — then  found  that  it  had  been 
managed  for  him. 

When  they  came  back  from  the  cemetery,  Mrs.  Richie 
went  to  Robert  Ferguson's.  "You  are  to  come  home 
and  have  supper  with  me,"  he  had  told  her;  "David 
can  call  for  you  when  he  gets  through  his  gallivanting 
about  the  town."  (David  had  excused  himself,  on  the 
ground  of  seeing  Knight  and  one  or  two  of  the  fellows; 
he  had  said  nothing  of  his  need  to  walk  alone  over  the 
old  bridge,  out  into  the  country,  and,  in  the  darkness, 
round  and  round  the  River  House.)  So,  in  the  May 
twilight  of  Robert  Ferguson's  garden,  the  two  old  neigh 
bors  paced  up  and  down,  and  talked  of  Sarah  Maitland. 

"I've  got  to  break  to  David  that  apparently  he  isn't 
going  to  get  the  fund  for  his  hospital,"  Mr.  Ferguson  said. 
"There  is  no  mention  of  it  in  her  will.  She  told  me  once, 
about  two  years  ago,  that  she  was  putting  money  by  for 
him,  and  when  she  got  the  amount  she  wanted  she  was 
going  to  give  it  to  him.  But  she  left  no  memorandum  of 
it.  I'm  afraid  she  changed  her  mind."  His  voice, 
rather  than  his  words,  caught  her  attention;  he  was  not 
speaking  naturally.  He  seemed  to  talk  for  the  sake  of 
talking,  which  was  so  unlike  him  that  Mrs.  Richie  looked 
at  him  with  mild  curiosity. 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Mrs.  Maitland  had  a  perfect  right  to  change  her 
mind,"  she  said;  "and  really  David  never  counted  very 
much  on  the  hospital.  She  spoke  of  it  to  him,  I  know, 
but  I  think  he  had  almost  forgotten  it — though  I  hadn't," 
she  confessed,  a  little  ruefully.  She  smiled,  and  Robert 
Ferguson,  fiercely  twitching  off  his  glasses,  tried  to  smile 
back;  but  his  troubled  eyes  lingered  questioningly  on 
her  serene  face.  It  was  almost  a  beautiful  face  in  its 
peace.  What  was  it  Mrs.  Maitland  had  said  about  her 
looks?  "Fair  and — "  He  was  so  angry  at  remember 
ing  the  word  that  he  swore  softly  at  himself  under  his 
breath,  and  Helena  Richie  gave  him  a  surprised  look. 
He  had  sworn  at  himself  several  times  in  these  five  days 
since  Sarah  Maitland,  half  delirious,  wholly  shrewd,  had 
said  those  impossible  things  about  David's  mother. 
Under  his  concern  and  grief,  under  his  solemn  preoccupa 
tions,  Robert  Ferguson  had  felt  again  and  again  the  shock 
of  the  incredible  suggestion:  "something  on  her  con 
science."  Each  time  the  words  thrust  themselves  up 
through  his  absorbed  realization  of  Mrs.  Maitland's 
death,  he  pushed  them  down  savagely:  "It  is  impossi 
ble!"  But  each  time  they  rose  again  to  the  surface 
of  his  mind.  When  they  did,  they  brought  with  them, 
as  if  dredged  out  of  the  depths  of  his  memory,  some  sly 
indorsement  of  their  truth.  .  .  .  She  never  says  any 
thing  about  her  husband.  "Why  on  earth  should  she? 
He  was  probably  a  bad  egg;  that  friend  of  hers,  that 
Old  Chester  doctor,  hinted  that  he  was  a  bad  egg.  Natu 
rally  he  is  not  a  pleasant  subject  of  conversation  for 
his  wife."  .  .  .  Her  only  friends,  except  in  his  own 
little  circle,  were  two  old  men  (one  of  them  dead  now), 
in  Old  Chester.  "Well,  Heaven  knows  a  parson  and  a 
doctor  are  about  as  good  friends  as  a  woman  can  have." 
.  .  .  But  no  women  friends  belonging  to  her  past. 
"Thank  the  Lord!  If  she  had  a  lot  of  cackling  females 
coming  to  see  her,  /  wouldn't  want  to!"  .  .  .  She  is 
always  so  ready  to  defend  Elizabeth's  wicked  mother. 
23 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"She  has  a  tender  heart;   she's  not  hard  like  the  rest  of 
her  sex." 

No,  Life  had  not  played  another  trick  on  him!  Mrs. 
Maitland  was  out  of  her  head,  that  was  all.  As  for  him, 
somebody  ought  to  boot  him  for  even  remembering  what 
the  poor  soul  had  said.  And  so,  disposing  of  the  intolera 
ble  suspicion,  he  would  draw  a  breath  of  relief — until 
the  whisper  came  again:  "something  on  her  conscience?" 

He  was  so  goaded  by  this  fancy  of  a  dying  woman, 
and  at  the  same  time  so  shaken  by  her  death,  that,  as  his 
guest  was  quick  to  see,  he  was  entirely  unreal;  almost — 
if  one  can  say  such  a  thing  of  Robert  Ferguson,  arti 
ficial.  He  was  artificial  when  he  spoke  of  David  and 
the  money  he  was  not  to  have;  the  fact  was,  he  did 
not  at  that  moment  care,  he  said  to  himself,  a  hang 
about  David,  or  his  money  either! 

"You  see,"  he  said,  as  they  came  to  the  green  door  in 
the  brick  wall,  and  went  into  the  other  garden,  "you  see, 
your  house  is  still  empty?" 

"Dear  old  house!"  she  said,  smiling  up  at  the  shuttered 
windows. 

He  looked  into  her  face,  and  its  entire  candor  made 
him  suddenly  and  sharply  angry  at  Sarah  Maitland.  It 
was  the  old  friendly  anger,  just  as  if  she  were  not  dead; 
and  he  found  it  curiously  comforting.  ("She  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  herself  to  have  such  an  idea  of  Mrs.  Richie. 
I'll  tell  her  so — oh,  Lord!  what  am  I  saying?  Well, 
well;  she  was  dying;  she  didn't  know  what  she  was 
talking  about.")  .  .  .  "We  could  pull  down  some  par 
titions  and  make  the  two  houses  into  one,"  he  said, 
wistfully. 

But  she  only  laughed  and  shook  her  head.  "I  want 
to  see  if  my  white  peony  is  going  to  blossom ;  come  over 
to  the  stone  seat." 

"You  always  shut  me  up,"  he  said,  sulkily;  and  in 
his  sulkiness  he  was  more  like  himself  than  he  had  been 
for  days.  Sitting  by  her  side  on  the  bench  under  the 

3S2 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

hawthorn,  he  let  her  talk  about  her  peony  or  anything 
else  that  seemed  to  her  a  safe  subject;  for  himself,  all 
he  wanted  was  the  comfort  of  looking  into  her  comforting 
eyes,  and  telling  himself  that  he  insulted  her  when  he 
even  denied  those  poor,  foolish,  dying  words.  When 
a  sudden  soft  shower  drove  them  indoors  to  his  library 
he  came  back  with  a  sigh  to  Mrs.  Maitland;  but  this 
time  he  was  quite  natural:  "The  queer  part  of  it  is,  she 
hadn't  changed  her  mind  about  David's  money  up  to 
within  two  days  of  her  death.  She  meant  him  to  have  it 
when  she  spoke  to  me  of  writing  to  him;  and  her 
mind  was  perfectly  clear  then;  at  least" — he  frowned; 
"she  did  wander  for  a  minute.  She  had  a  crazy 
idea—" 

"What?"  said  Mrs.  Richie,  sympathetically. 

"Nothing;  she  was  wandering.  But  it  was  only  for 
a  minute,  and  except  for  that  she  was  clear.  When  I 
urged  her  to  make  some  provision  for  Blair,  she  was 
perfectly  clear.  Practically  told  me  to  mind  my  own 
business!  Just  like  her,"  he  said,  sighing. 

"It  would  have  been  a  great  deal  of  money,"  Mrs. 
Richie  said;  "probably  David  is  better  off  without  it." 
But  he  knew  she  was  disappointed;  and  indeed,  after 
supper,  in  his  library,  she  admitted  the  disappointment 
frankly  enough.  "He  has  changed  very  much;  his 
youth  is  all  gone.  He  is  more  silent  than  ever.  I  had 
thought  that  perhaps  the  building  of  this  hospital  would 
bring  him  out  of  himself.  You  see,  he  blames  himself 
for  the  whole  thing." 

"He  is  still  bitter?" 

"Oh,  I'm  afraid  so.  He  very  rarely  speaks  of  it. 
But  I  can  see  that  he  blames  himself  always.  I  wish 
he  would  talk  freely." 

"He  will  one  of  these  days.  He'll  blurt  it  out  and 
then  he'll  begin  to  get  over  it.  Don't  stop  him,  and 
don't  get  excited,  no  matter  what  absurd  things  he  says. 
He'll  be  better  when  he  has  emptied  his  heart.  I  was, 

353 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

you  know,  after  I  talked  to  you  and  told  you  that  I'd 
been— jilted." 

"  I'm  afraid  it's  gone  too  deep  for  that  with  David," 
she  said,  sadly. 

"It  couldn't  go  deeper  than  it  did  with  me,  and 
yet  you — you  taught  me  to  forgive  her.  Yes,  and  to  be 
glad,  too;  for  if  she  hadn't  thrown  me  over,  I  wouldn't 
have  known  you." 

"Now  stop!"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  with  soft  impatience. 

"For  a  meek  and  mild  looking  person,"  said  Robert 
Ferguson,  twitching  off  his  glasses,  "you  have  the  most 
infernally  strong  will.  I  hate  obstinacy." 

"Mr.  Ferguson,  be  sensible.  Don't  talk — that  way. 
Listen :  David  must  see  Elizabeth  while  he  is  here.  This 
situation  has  got  to  become  commonplace.  I  meant  to 
go  home  to-morrow  morning,  but  if  you  will  ask  us  all 
to  luncheon — " 

"'Dinner'!  We  don't  have  your  Philadelphia  airs  in 
Mercer." 

"Well,  'dinner,'"  she  said,  smiling;  "we'll  stay  over 
and  take  the  evening  train. 

"I  won't  ask  Blair!" 

"I  hate  obstinacy,"  Mrs.  Richie  told  him,  drolly. 
"Well,  I  am  not  so  very  anxious  to  see  Blair  myself. 
But  I  do  want  Elizabeth  and  David  to  meet.  You  see, 
David  means  to  practise  in  Mercer — 

"What!  Then  you  will  come  here  to  live?  When 
will  you  come?" 

"Next  spring,  I  hope.  And  it  is  like  coming  home 
again.  The  promise  of  the  hospital  was  a  factor  in  his 
decision,  but,  even  without  it,  I  think  he  will  want  to 
settle  in  Mercer";  she  paused  and  sighed. 

Her  old  landlord  did  not  notice  the  sigh.  "I'll  get 
the  house  in  order  for  you  right  off!"  he  said,  beaming. 
"I  suppose  you'll  ask  for  all  sorts  of  new-fangled  things! 
A  tenant  is  never  satisfied."  He  was  so  happy  that  he 
barked  and  chuckled  at  the  same  time. 

354 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I  hope  it's  wise  for  him  to  come,"  Mrs.  Richie  said, 
anxiously;  "I  confess  I  don't  feel  quite  easy  about  it, 
because — Elizabeth  will  be  here;  and  though,  of  course, 
nobody  is  going  to  think  of  how  things  might  have  been, 
still,  it  will  be  painful  for  them  both  just  at  first.  That's 
why  I  want  you  to  invite  us  to  dinner, — the  sooner  they 
meet,  the  sooner  things  will  be  commonplace." 

"When  a  man  has  once  been  in  love  with  a  woman," 
Robert  Ferguson  said,  putting  on  his  glasses  carefully, 
"he  can  hate  her,  but  she  can  never  be  commonplace  to 
him." 

And  before  she  knew  it  she  said,  impulsively,  "Please 
don't  ever  hate  me." 

He  laid  a  quick  hand  on  hers  that  was  resting  in  her 
lap.  "  I'll  never  hate  you  and  you'll  never  be  common 
place.  Dear  woman — can't  you?" 

She  shook  her  head;  the  tears  stood  suddenly  in  her 
leaf-brown  eyes. 

"Helena!"  he  said,  and  there  was  'a  half-frightened 
violence  in  his  voice;  "what  is  it  ?  Tell  me,  for  Heaven's 
sake;  what  is  it?  Do  you  hate  me?" 

"No — no — no!" 

"If  you  dislike  me,  say  so!  I  think  I  could  bear  it 
better  to  believe  you  disliked  me." 

"Robert,  how  absurd  you  are!  You  know  I  could 
never  dislike  you.  But  our — our  age,  and  David,  and— 

He  put  an  abrupt  hand  on  her  shoulder  and  looked 
hard  into  her  eyes;  then  for  a  single  minute  he  covered 
his  own.  "Don't  talk  about  age,  and  all  that  nonsense. 
Don't  talk  about  little  things,  Helena,  for  God's  sake! 
Oh,  my  dear — "  he  said,  brokenly.  He  got  up  and  went 
across  the  room  to  a  bookcase ;  he  stood  there  a  moment 
or  two  with  his  back  to  her.  Helena  Richie,  bewildered, 
her  eyes  full  of  tears,  looked  after  him  in  dismay.  But 
when  he  took  his  chair  again,  he  was  "commonplace" 
enough,  and  when,  .later,  David  came  in,  he  was  able 
to  talk  in  the  most  matter-of-fact  way.  He  told  the 

355 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

young  man  that  evidently  Mrs.  Maitland  had  changed 
her  mind  about  a  hospital.  "Of  course  some  papers 
may  turn  up  that  will  entitle  you  to  your  fund,  but  I 
confess  I'm  doubtful  about  it.  I'm  afraid  she  changed 
her  mind." 

"Probably  she  did,"  David  said,  laconically;  "well, 
I  am  glad  she  thought  of  it, — even  if  she  didn't  do  it. 
She  was  a  big  person,  Mr.  Ferguson;  I  didn't  half  know 
how  big  a  person  she  was!"  For  a  moment  his  face 
softened  until  his  own  preoccupations  faded  out  of  it. 

"Nobody  knew  how  big  she  was — except  me,"  Robert 
Ferguson  said.  Then  he  began  to  talk  about  her.  .  .  . 
It  was  nearly  midnight  when  he  ended;  when  he  did,  it 
was  with  an  outburst  of  pain  and  grief:  " Nobody  under 
stood  her.  They  thought  because  she  ran  an  iron-works, 
that  she  wasn't — a  woman.  I  tell  you  she  was!  I  tell 
you  her  heart  was  a  woman's  heart.  She  didn't  care 
about  fuss  and  feathers,  and  every  other  kind  of  tom 
foolery,  like  all  the  rest  of  you,  but  she  was  as — as  modest 
as  a  girl,  and  as  sensitive.  You  needn't  laugh — " 

"Laugh?"  said  Helena  Richie;  "I  am  ready  to  cry 
when  I  think  how  her  body  misrepresented  her  soul!" 

He  nodded;  his  chin  shook.  "Big,  generous,  in 
capable  of  meanness,  incapable  of  littleness! — and  now 
she's  dead.  I  believe  her  disappointment  about  Blair 
really  killed  her.  It  cut  some  spring.  She  has  never 
been  the  same  woman  since  he — "  He  stopped  short, 
and  looked  at  David;  no  one  spoke. 

Then  Mrs.  Richie  asked  some  casual  question  about  the 
Works,  and  they  began  to  talk  of  other  things.  When 
his  guests  said  good-night,  Robert  Ferguson,  standing  on 
his  door-step,  called  after  them:  "Oh,  hold  on:  David, 
won't  you  and  your  mother  come  in  to  dinner  to-morrow  ? 
Luncheon,  your  mother  calls  it.  She  wants  us  to  be 
fashionable  in  Mercer!  Nobody  here  but  Miss  White 
and  Elizabeth." 

"Yes,  thank  you'  we'll  come  with  pleasure/'  Mrs, 
356 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Richie  called  back,  and  felt  the  young  man's  arm  grow 
rigid  under  her  hand. 

The  mother  and  son  walked  on  in  silence.  It  had 
stopped  raining,  but  the  upper  sky  was  full  of  fleecy 
clouds  laid  edge  to  edge  like  a  celestial  pavement;  from 
between  them  sometimes  a  serene  moon  looked  down. 

"David,  you  don't  mind  staying  over  for  a  day?" 

"Oh  no,  not  at  all.     I  meant  to." 

"And  you  don't  mind — seeing  Elizabeth  ?" 

"  I  want  to  see  her.     Will  he  be  there  ?" 

"Blair?  No!  Certainly  not.  It  wouldn't  be  pleas 
ant  for — for — " 

"For  him?"  David  said,  dryly.  "I  should  think  not. 
Still,  I  am  sorry.  I  have  rather  a  curiosity  to  see  Blair." 

"Oh,  David!"  she  protested,  sadly. 

"My  dear  mother,  don't  be  alarmed.  I  have  no  in 
tention  of  calling  him  out.  I  am  merely  interested  to 
know  how  a  sneak-thief  looks  when  he  meets —  '  he 
laughed;  "the  man  he  has  robbed.  However,  it  might 
not  be  pleasant  for  the  rest  of  you." 

His  mother  was  silent;  her  plan  of  making  things 
"commonplace"  was  not  as  simple  as  she  thought. 

Robert  Ferguson,  on  his  door-step,  looked  after  them, 
his  face  falling  abruptly  into  stern  lines.  When  he  went 
back  to  his  library  he  stood  perfectly  still,  his  hands  in 
his  pockets,  staring  straight  ahead  of  him.  Once  or 
twice  his  whole  face  quivered.  Suddenly  he  struck  his 
clenched  fist  hard  on  the  table:  "Well!"  he  said,  aloud, 
violently,  "what  difference  does  it  make?"  He  lit  a 
cigar  and  sat  down,  his  legs  stretched  out  in  front  of  him, 
his  feet  crossed.  He  sat  there  for  an  hour,  biting  on  his 
extinguished  cigar.  Then  he  said  in  an  unsteady  voice, 
"She  is  a  heavenly  creature."  The  vigil  in  his  library, 
which  lasted  until  the  dawn  was  white  above  Mercer's 
smoke,  left  Robert  Ferguson  shaken  to  the  point  of 
humility.  He  no  longer  combated  Mrs.  Maitland's  wan 
dering  words;  they  did  not  matter.  What  mattered  was 

357 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  divine  discovery  that  they  did  not  matter!  Or 
rather,  that  they  opened  his  eyes  to  the  glory  of  the  hu 
man  soul.  To  a  man  of  his  narrow  and  obstinate 
council  of  perfection,  the  realization,  not  only  that  it 
was  possible  to  enter  into  holiness  through  the  door  of 
sin — that  low  door  that  bows  the  head  that  should 
be  upright — but  that  his  own  possibilities  of  tenderness 
were  wider  than  he  knew, — such  a  realization  was  con 
version.  It  was  the  recognition  that  in  the  matter  of 
forgiveness  he  and  his  Father  were  one.  Helena  might 
or  might  not  ''have  something  on  her  conscience."  If 
she  had,  then  it  proved  that  she  in  her  humility  was 
a  better  woman  than,  with  nothing  on  his  conscience, 
he  in  his  arrogance  was  a  man;  and  when  he  said  that, 
he  began  to  understand,  with  shame,  that  in  regard  to 
other  people's  wrong-doing  he  had  always  been,  as 
Sarah  Maitland  expressed  it,  "more  particular  than  his 
Creator."  He  thought  of  her  words  now,  and  his  lean 
face  reddened.  "She  hit  me  when  she  said  that.  I've 
always  set  up  my  own  Ebenezer.  What  a  fool  I  must 
have  seemed  to  a  woman  like  Helena.  .  .  .  She's  a 
heavenly  creature!"  he  ended,  brokenly;  "what  differ 
ence  does  it  make  how  she  became  so  ?  But  if  that's  the 
only  reason  she  keeps  on  refusing  me — " 

When  Elizabeth  and  David  met  in  Mr.  Ferguson's 
library  at  noon  the  next  day,  everybody  was,  of  course, 
elaborately  unconscious. 

Elizabeth  came  in  last.  As  she  entered,  Miss  White, 
nibbling  speechlessly,  was  fussing  with  the  fire-irons  of  a 
grate  filled  with  white  lilacs.  Mrs.  Richie,  turning  her 
back  upon  her  son,  began  to  talk  entirely  at  random  to 
Robert  Ferguson,  who  was  rapidly  pulling  out  books 
from  the  bookcase  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  David 
was  the  only  one  who  made  no  pretense.  When  he  heard 
the  front  door  close  and  knew  that  she  was  in  the  house, 
he  stood  staring  at  the  library  door.  Elizabeth ,  enter- 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ing,  walked  straight  up  to  him,  and  put  out  her 
hand. 

''How  are  you,  David?"  she  said. 

David,  taking  the  small,  cold  hand  in  his,  said,  calmly, 
"How  're  you,  Elizabeth?"  Then  their  eyes  met.  Hers 
held  steadfast;  it  was  his  which  fell. 

"Have  you  seen  Nannie ?"  she  said. 

And  he:  "Yes;  poor  Nannie!" 

"Hullo,  Elizabeth,"  her  uncle  called  out,  carelessly; 
and  Mrs.  Richie  came  over  and  kissed  her. 

So  that  first  terrible  moment  was  lived  through.  Dur 
ing  luncheon,  they  hardly  spoke  to  each  other.  Elizabeth, 
with  obvious  effort,  talked  to  Mrs.  Richie  of  Nannie  and 
Mrs.  Maitland ;  David  talked  easily  and  (for  him)  a  great 
deal,  to  Robert  Ferguson;  he  talked  politics,  and  dis 
gusted  his  iron-manufacturing  host  by  denouncing  the 
tariff;  he  talked  municipal  affairs,  and  said  that  Mercer 
had  a  lot  of  private  virtue,  but  no  public  morals.  "  Look 
at  your  streets!"  said  the  squirt.  In  those  days,  the 
young  man  who  criticized  the  existing  order  was  a  squirt ; 
now  he  is  a  cad;  but  in  the  nostrils  of  middle  age,  he  is  as 
rankly  unpleasant  by  one  name  as  by  the  other.  Eliza 
beth's  uncle  was  so  annoyed  that  he  forgot  the  embar 
rassment  of  the  occasion,  and  said,  satirically,  to  Mrs. 
Richie :  "  Well ,  well !  *  See  how  we  apples  swim ' ! "  which 
made  her  laugh,  but  did  not  disturb  David  in  the  least. 
The  moment  luncheon  was  over,  Elizabeth  rose. 

"I  must  go  and  see  Nannie,"  she  said;  and  David, 
opening  the  door  for  her,  said,  "I'll  go  along  with  you." 
At  which  their  elders  exchanged  a  startled  look. 

Out  in  the  street  they  walked  side  by  side — these  two 
between  whom  there  was  a  great  gulf  fixed.  By  that 
time  the  strain  of  the  occasion  had  begun  to  show  in 
Elizabeth's  face;  she  was  pale,  and  the  tension  of  her 
set  lips  drew  the  old  dimple  into  a  livid  line.  David  was 
apparently  entirely  at  ease,  speaking  lightly  of  this  or 
that;  Elizabeth  answered  in  monosyllables.  Once,  at  a 

359 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

crossing,  he  laid  an  involuntary  hand  on  her  arm — but 
instantly  lifted  it  as  if  the  touch  had  burnt  him! 
"Lookout!"  he  said,  and  for  the  first  time  his  voice 
betrayed  him.  But  before  the  clattering  dray  had 
passed,  his  taciturn  self-control  nad  returned:  "you  can 
hardly  hear  yourself  think,  in  Mercer,"  he  said.  Eliza 
beth  was  silent;  she  had  come  to  the  end  of  effort. 

It  was  not  until  they  reached  the  iron  gate  of  Mrs. 
Maitland's  house  that  he  dragged  his  quivering  reality 
out  of  the  inarticulate  depths,  but  his  brief  words  were 
flat  and  meaningless  to  the  strained  creature  beside  him.. 

"I  was  glad  to  see  you  to-day,"  he  said. 

And  she,  looking  at  him  with  hard  eyes,  said  that  it 
was  very  kind  in  him  and  in  his  mother  to  come  on  to 
Mrs.  Maitland's  funeral.  "  Nannie  was  so  touched  by  it," 
she  said.  She  could  not  say  another  word;  not  even 
good-by.  She  opened  the  gate  and  fled  up  the  steps  to 
the  front  door. 

David,  so  abruptly  deserted,  stood  for  a  full  minute 
looking  at  the  dark  old  house,  where  the  wistaria  looping 
above  the  pillared  doorway  was  blossoming  in  wreaths 
of  lavender  and  faint  green. 

Then  he  laughed  aloud.     "  What  a  fool  I  am,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

WHEN  Nannie  Maitland,  trembling  very  much,  pressed 
into  her  brother's  hand  that  certificate  for  what  was, 
in  those  days,  a  very  considerable  fortune,  Blair  had 
been  deeply  moved.  It  came  after  a  night,  not  of 
grief,  to  be  sure,  but  of  what  might  be  called  cosmic 
emotion, — the  child's  realization  of  the  parent's  death. 
When  he  saw  the  certificate,  and  knew  that  at  the 
last  moment  his  mother's  ruthless  purpose  had  flagged, 
her  iron  will  had  bent,  a  wave  of  something  like  ten 
derness  rose  above  his  hate  as  the  tide  rises  above 
wrecking  rocks.  For  a  moment  he  thought  that  even 
if  she  had  carried  out  her  threat  of  disinheriting  him  he 
would  be  able  to  forgive  her.  But  as  inevitably  the 
wave  of  feeling  ebbed,  and  he  saw  again  those  black  rocks 
of  hate  below  the  moving  brightness  of  the  tide,  he  re 
minded  himself  that  this  gift  of  hers  was  only  a  small  part 
of  what  belonged  to  him.  In  a  way  it  was  even  a  con 
fession  that  she  had  wronged  him.  She  had  written  his 
name,  Nannie  told  him  with  a  curious  tremor  in  her 
hands  and  face,  "just  at  the  last.  It  was  that  last 
morning,"  Nannie  said,  huskily,  trying  to  keep  her  voice 
steady;  "she  hadn't  time  to  change  her  will,  but  this 
shows  she  was  sorry  she  made  it." 

"I  don't  know  that  that  follows,"  Blair  said,  gravely. 
It  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  he  referred  to  it  again : 
"After  all,  Nannie,  if  her  will  is  what  she  said  it  would 
be,  it  is — outrageous,  you  know.  This  money  doesn't 
alter  that." 

Yet  somehow,  in  those  days  before  the  funeral,  when- 
361 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ever  he  thought  of  breaking  the  will,  that  relenting  gift 
seemed  to  stay  his  hand.  The  idea  of  using  her  money 
to  thwart  her  purpose,  of  taking  what  she  had  given 
him,  from  affection  and  a  tardy  sense  of  justice,  to  in 
sult  her  memory,  made  him  uncomfortable  to  the  point 
of  irritability.  It  was  esthetically  offensive.  Once  he 
sounded  Elizabeth  on  the  subject,  and  her  agreeing  out 
cry  of  disgust  drove  him  into  defending  himself:  "Of 
course  we  don't  know  yet  what  her  will  is ;  but  if  she  has 
done  what  she  threatened,  it  is  abominable;  and  I'll 
break  it—" 

"With  the  money  she  gave  you?"  she  said. 

And  he  said,  boldly,  "Yes!" 

But  he  was  not  really  bold;  he  was  perplexed  and 
unhappy,  for  his  hope  that  his  mother  had  not  disin 
herited  him  was  based  on  something  a  little  finer  than 
his  wish  to  come  into  his  own;  it  was  a  real  reluctance 
to  do  violence  to  a  relationship  of  which  he  had  first 
become  conscious  the  night  she  died.  But  with  that 
reluctance,  was  also  the  instinct  of  self-defense:  " I  have 
a  right  to  her  money!" 

The  day  after  the  funeral  he  went  to  Mrs.  Maitland's 
lawyers  with  a  request  to  see  the  will. 

"Certainly,"  the  senior  member  of  the  firm  said; 
"as  you  are  a  legatee  a  copy  has  already  been  prepared 
for  you.  I  regret,  Blair,  that  your  mother  took  the 
course  she  did.  I  cannot  help  saying  to  you  that  we 
ventured  to  advise  against  it. 

"I  was  aware  of  my  mothers  purpose,"  Blair  said, 
briefly;  and  added,  to  himself ," she  has  done  it!  ...  I 
shall  probably  contest  the  will,"  he  said  aloud. 

Sarah  Maitland's  old  friend  and  adviser  looked  at  him 
sympathetically.  "No  use,  my  boy;  it's  cast-iron. 
That  was  her  own  phrase,  'cast-iron."1  Then,  really 
sorry  for  him,  he  left  him  in  the  inner  office  so  that  he 
might  read  that  ruthless  document  alone. 

Mrs.  Maitland  had  said  it  was  a  pity  she  could  not  live 
362 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  see  Blair  fight  her  will;  she  "would  like  the  fun  of  it." 
She  would  not  have  found  any  food  for  mirth  if  she  could 
have  seen  her  son  in  that  law-office  reading, with  set  teeth, 
her  opinion  of  himself,  her  realization  of  her  responsi 
bility  in  making  him  what  he  was,  and  her  reason  for 
leaving  him  merely  a  small  income  from  a  trust  fund. 
Had  it  not  been  for  the  certificate — in  itself  a  denial  of 
her  cruel  words — lying  at  that  moment  in  his  breast 
pocket,  he  would  have  been  unable  to  control  his  fury. 
As  it  was,  underneath  his  anger  was  the  consciousness 
that  she  had  made  what  reparation  she  could. 

When  he  folded  the  copy  of  the  will  and  thrust  it  into 
his  pocket  his  face  was  very  pale,  but  he  could  not  resist 
saying  to  old  Mr.  Howe  as  he  passed  him  in  the  outer 
office,  "  I  hope  you  will  be  pleased,  sir,  in  view  of  your 
protest  about  this  will,  to  know  that  my  mother  re 
gretted  her  course  toward  me,  and  left  a  message  to  that 
effect  with  my  sister." 

"I  am  glad  to  hear  it,"  the  astonished  lawyer  said, 
"but—" 

Blair  did  not  wait  to  hear  the  end  of  his  sentence. 
He  said  to  himself  that  even  before  he  made  up  his  mind 
what  to  do  about  the  will  he  must  get  possession  of  his 
money — "or  the  first  thing  I  know  some  of  their  con 
founded  legal  quibbles  will  make  trouble  for  me,"  he  said. 

Certainly  there  was  no  trouble  for  him  as  yet;  the 
process  of  securing  his  mother's  gift  involved  nothing 
more  than  the  depositing  of  the  certificate  in  his  own 
bank.  The  cashier,  who  knew  Sarah  Maitland's  name 
very  well  indeed  on  checks  payable  to  her  son,  ventured 
to  offer  his  condolences:  "  Your  late  mother  was  a  very 
wonderful  woman,  Mr.  Maitland.  There  was  no  better 
business  man  this  side  of  the  Alleghanies  than  your 
mother,  sir." 

Blair  bowed;  he  was  too  absorbed  to  make  any  con 
ventional  reply.  The  will :  should  he  or  should  he  not 
contest  it  ?  His  habit  of  indecision  made  the  mere  ques- 

363 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

tion — apart  from  its  gravity—acutely  painful;  not  even 
the  probabilities  of  the  result  of  such  a  contest  helped 
him  to  decide  what  to  do.  The  probabilities  were  grimly 
clear.  Blair  had,  perhaps,  a  little  less  legal  knowledge 
than  the  average  layman,  but  even  he  could  not  fail  to 
realize  that  Sarah  Maitland's  will  was,  as  Mr.  Howe  had 
said,  "iron."  Even  if  it  could  be  broken,  it  might  take 
years  of  litigation  to  do  it.  "  And  a  ' bird  in  the  hand ' !" 
Blair  reminded  himself  cynically.  "But,"  he  told 
Nannie,  a  week  or  two  later  when  she  was  repeating 
nervously,  for  the  twentieth  time,  just  how  his  mother 
had  softened  toward  him, — "but  those  confounded 
orphan  asylums  make  me  mad !  If  she  wanted  orphans, 
what  about  you  and  me  ?  Charity  begins  at  home.  I 
swear  I'll  contest  the  will!" 

Nannie  did  not  smile;  she  very  rarely  smiled  now. 
Miss  White  thought  she  was  grieving  over  her  step 
mother's  death;  and  Elizabeth  said,  pityingly,  "I  didn't 
realize  she  was  so  fond  of  her."  Perhaps  Nannie  did 
not  realize  it  herself  until  she  began  to  miss  her  step 
mother's  roughness,  her  arrogant  generosity,  her  temper, 
—to  miss,  even,  the  mere  violence  of  her  presence;  then 
she  began  to  grieve  softly  to  herself.  "  Oh,  Mamma,  I 
wish  you  hadn't  died,"  she  used  to  say,  over  and  over, 
as  she  lay  awake  in  the  darkness.  She  lay  awake  a 
great  deal  in  those  first  weeks. 

All  her  life  Nannie  had  been  like  a  little  leaf  whirled 
along  by  a  great  gale  of  thundering  power  and  purpose 
which  she  never  attempted  to  understand,  much  less 
contend  with ;  now,  abruptly,  the  gale  had  dropped,  and 
all  her  world  was  still.  No  wonder  she  lay  awake  at 
night  to  listen  to  such  stillness!  Apart  from  grief  the 
mere  shock  of  sudden  quietness  might  account  for  her 
nervousness,  Robert  Ferguson  said;  but  he  was  perplexed 
at  her  lack  of  interest  in  her  own  affairs.  She  seemed  ut 
terly  unaware  of  the  change  in  her  circumstances.  That 
she  was  a  rich  woman  now  was  a  matter  of  indifference  to 

364 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

her.  And  she  seemed  equally  unconscious  of  her  free 
dom.  Apparently  it  never  occurred  to  her  that  she 
could  alter  her  mode  of  life.  Except  that,  at  Blair's 
insistence,  she  had  a  maid,  and  that  Harris  had  cleared 
the  office  paraphernalia  from  the  dining-room  table,  life 
in  the  stately,  dirty,  melancholy  old  house  still  ran  in 
those  iron  grooves  which  Mrs.  Maitland  had  laid  down 
for  herself  nearly  thirty  years  before.  Nannie  knew 
nothing  better  than  the  grooves,  and  seemed  to  desire 
nothing  better.  She  was  indifferent  to  her  surroundings, 
and  what  was  more  remarkable,  indifferent  to  Blair's 
perplexities;  at  any  rate,  she  was  of  no  assistance  to 
him  in  making  up  his  mind  about  the  will.  His  vacil 
lations  hardly  seemed  to  interest  her.  Once  he  said, 
suppose  instead  of  contesting  it,  he  should  go  to 
work ?  But  she  only  said,  vaguely,  "That  would  be  very 
nice." 

Curiously  enough,  in  the  midst  of  his  uncertainties, 
a  little  certainty  had  sprung  up:  it  was  the  realization 
that  work,  merely  as  work,  might  be  amusing.  In  these 
months  of  tormenting  jealousy,  of  continually  crushed 
hope  that  Elizabeth  would  begin  to  care  for  him,  of  occa 
sional  shamed  consciousness  of  having  taken  advantage 
of  a  woman — Blair  Maitland  had  had  very  little  to 
amuse  him.  So,  in  those  hesitating  weeks  that  followed 
his  mother's  death,  work,  which  her  will  necessitated, 
began  to  interest  him.  Perhaps  the  interest,  if  not  the 
amusement,  was  enhanced  by  one  or  two  legal  opinions 
as  to  the  possibility  of  breaking  the  will.  Harry  Knight 
read  it,  and  grinned : 

"Well,  old  man,  as  you  wouldn't  give  me  the  case  any 
how,  I  can  afford  to  be  perfectly  disinterested  and  tell 
you  the  truth.  In  my  opinion,  it  would  put  a  lot  of  cash 
into  some  lav/yer's  pocket  to  contest  this  will ;  but  I  bet 
it  would  take  a  lot  out  of  yours!  You'd  come  out  the 
small  end  of  the  horn,  my  boy." 

But  Knight  was  young,  Blair  reflected,  and  perhaps  his 

365 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

opinion  wasn't  worth  anything.  "He's  'Goose  Molly's' 
son,"  he  said  to  himself,  with  a  half-laugh ;  it  was  strange 
how  easily  he  fell  into  his  mother's  speech  sometimes! 
With  a  distrust  of  Harry  Knight's  youth  as  keen  as  her 
own  might  have  been,  Blair  stated  his  case  to  a  lawyer 
in  another  city. 

"Before  reading  the  will,"  said  this  gentleman,  "let 
me  inquire,  sir,  whether  there  is  any  doubt  in  your  mind 
of  your  mother's  mental  capacity  at  the  time  the  instru 
ment  was  drawn  ?" 

"My  mother  was  Sarah  Maitland,  of  the  Maitland 
Works,"  said  Blair,  briefly;  and  the  lawyer's  involuntary 
exclamation  of  chagrin  would  have  been  laughable,  if  it 
had  not  been  so  significant.  "  But  we  should,  of  course, 
be  glad  to  represent  you,  Mr.  Maitland,"  he  said.  Blair, 
remembering  Harry  Knight's  disinterested  remark  about 
pockets,  said,  dryly, "Thanks,  very  much,"  and  took  his 
departure.  "  He  must  think  I'm  Mr.  Doestick's  friend," 
he  told  himself.  The  old  joke  was  his  mother's  way  of 
avoiding  an  emphatic  adjective  when  she  especially  felt 
the  need  of  it;  but  he  had  forgotten  that  she  had  ever 
used  it. 

As  he  walked  from  the  lawyer's  office  to  his  hotel,  he 
was  absorbed  to  the  point  of  fatigue  in  his  effort  to  make 
up  his  mind,  but  it  was  characteristic  of  him  that  even  in 
his  absorption  he  winced  at  the  sight  of  a  caged  robin, 
sitting,  moping  on  its  perch,  in  front  of  a  tobacconist's. 
He  had  passed  the  poor  wild  thing  and  walked  a  block, 
before  he  turned  impulsively  on  his  heel,  and  came  back 
to  interview  the  shopkeeper.  "How  much  will  you  sell 
him  for?"  he  said,  with  that  charming  manner  that 
always  made  people  eager  to  oblige  him.  The  robin, 
looking  at  him  with  lack-luster  eyes,  sunk  his  poor  lit 
tle  head  down  into  his  dulled  feathers ;  there  was  some 
thing  so  familiar  in  the  movement,  that  Blair  cringed. 

"I  want  to  buy  the  little  beggar,"  he  said,  so  eagerly 
that  the  owner  mentioned  a  preposterous  price.  Blair 

366 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

took  the  money  out  of  his  pocket,  and  the  bird  out  of 
the  cage.  For  a  minute  the  captive  hesitated,  cling 
ing  with  terrified  claws  to  his  rescuer's  friendly  finger. 
"Off  with  you,  old  fellow!"  Blair  said,  tossing  the  bird 
up  into  the  air;  and  the  unused  wings  were  spread! 
For  a  minute  the  eyes  of  the  two  men  followed  the  joyous 
flight  over  the  housetops;  then  the  tobacconist  grinned 
rather  sheepishly:  "Guess  you've  struck  oil,  ain't  you? 
— or  somebody's  left  you  a  fortune." 

Blair  chuckled.  "Think  so?"  he  said.  But  as  he 
walked  on  down  the  street,  he  sighed;  how  dull  the 
robin's  eyes  had  been.  Elizabeth's  eyes  looked  like 
that  sometimes.  "What  a  donkey  I  am,"  he  said  to 
himself;  "ten  dollars!  Well,  I'll  have  to  contest  the 
will  and  get  that  fortune,  or  I  can't  keep  up  the  liberator 
role!"  Then  he  fell  to  thinking  how  he  must  invest 
what  fortune  he  had — anything  to  get  that  confounded 
robin  out  of  his  head!  "I'm  not  going  to  keep  all  my 
money  in  a  stocking  in  the  bank,"  he  told  himself.  The 
idea  of  investment  pleased  him;  and  when  he  got  back 
to  Mercer  he  devoted  himself  to  consultations  with 
brokers.  After  some  three  months  of  it,  he  found  the 
'work,'  as  he  called  it,  distinctly  amusing.  "  It's  mighty 
interesting,"  he  told  his  wife  once;  "I  really  like  it." 

Elizabeth  said,  languidly,  that  she  hoped  he  would  go 
into  business  because  it  would  have  pleased  his  mother. 
Since  Mrs.  Maitland's  death,  Elizabeth  had  not  seemed 
well;  no  one  connected  her  languor  with  that  speechless 
walk  with  David  to  Nannie's  door,  or  her  look  into  his 
eyes  when  she  bade  farewell  to  a  hope  that  she  had  not 
known  she  was  cherishing.  But  the  experience  had  been 
a  profound  shock  to  her.  His  entire  ease,  his  interest 
in  other  matters  than  the  one  matter  of  her  life,  and 
most  of  all  his  casual  "glad  to  see  you,"  meant  that  he 
had  forgiven  her,  and  so  no  longer  loved  her, — for  of 
course,  if  he  loved  her  he  would  not  forgive  her!  In 
these  two  years  she  had  told  herself  with  perfect  sin- 
24  367 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

cerity,  a  thousand  times,  that  he  had  ceased  to  love 
her;  but  now  it  seemed  to  her  that,  for  the  first  time, 
she  really  knew  it.  "He  doesn't  even  hate  me,"  she 
thought,  bleakly.  For  sheer  understanding  of  suffering 
she  grew  a  little  gentler  to  Blair;  but  her  sympathy, 
although  it  gave  him  moments  of  hope,  did  not  reach 
the  point  of  helping  him  to  decide  what  to  do  about 
the  will.  So,  veering  between  the  sobering  reflection  that 
litigation  was  probably  useless,  and  the  esthetically  re 
pulsive  idea  of  using  his  mother's  confession  of  regret  to 
fight  her,  he  reached  no  decision.  Meantime,  "invest 
ment"  slipped  easily  into  speculation, — speculation  which, 
by  that  strange  tempering  of  the  wind  that  sometimes 
comes  before  the  lamb  is  shorn,  was  remarkably  successful. 
It  was  gossip  about  this  speculation  that  made  Robert 
Ferguson  prick  up  his  ears:  "Where  in  thunder  does  he 
get  the  money  to  monkey  with  the  stock-market?"  he 
said  to  himself;  "he  hasn't  any  securities  to  put  up,  and 
he  can't  borrow  on  his  expectations  any  more, — every 
body  knows  she  cut  him  off  with  a  shilling!"  He  was 
concerned  as  well  as  puzzled.  "I'll  have  him  on  my 
hands  yet,"  he  thought,  morosely.  "Confound  it!  It's 
hard  on  me  that  she  disinherited  him.  He'll  be  a  mill 
stone  round  my  neck  as  long  as  he  lives."  Robert 
Ferguson  had  long  ago  made  up  his  mind — with  tender 
ness — that  he  must  support  Elizabeth,  "but  I  won't 
supply  that  boy  with  money  to  gamble  with !  And  if  he 
goes  on  in  this  way,  of  course  he'll  come  down  on  me  for 
the  butcher's  bill."  That  was  how  he  happened  to  ask 
Elizabeth  about  Blair's  concerns.  When  he  did,  the 
whole  matter  came  out.  It  was  Sunday  morning. 
Elizabeth,  starting  for  church,  had  asked  Blair,  per 
functorily,  if  he  were  going.  "Church?"  he  said — he 
was  sitting  at  his  writing-table,  idly  spinning  a  penny; 
"not  I!  I'm  going  to  devote  the  Sabbath  day  to  de 
ciding  about  the  will."  She  had  made  no  comment,  and 
his  lip  hardened.  "She  doesn't  care  what  I  do,"  he  said 

368 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  himself,  gloomily ;  yet  he  believed  she  would  be  pleased 
if  he  refused  to  fight.  "  Heads  or  tails,"  he  said,  listening 
to  her  retreating  step;  "suppose  I  say  'heads,  bird  in  the 
handiwork.  Tails,  bird  in  the  bush ; — fight.'  Might  as 
well  decide  it  this  way  if  she  won't  help  me." 

She  had  never  thought  of  helping  him;  instead  she 
stopped  at  her  uncle's  and  went  out  into  the  garden  with 
him  to  watch  him  feed  his  pigeons.  When  that  was 
over,  they  came  back  together  to  the  library,  and  it  was 
while  she  was  standing  at  his  big  table  buttoning  her 
gloves  that  he  asked  her  if  Blair  was  speculating. 

Yes;  she  believed  he  was.  No;  not  with  her  money; 
that  had  been  just  about  used  up,  anyhow;  although 
he  had  paid  it  all  back  to  her  when  he  got  his  money. 
"Will  you  invest  it  for  me,  Uncle  Robert?"  she  said. 

"Of  course;  but  mind,"  he  barked,  with  the  old,  com 
fortable  crossness,  "you  won't  get  any  crazy  ten  per 
cent,  out  of  my  investments!  You'll  have  to  go  to  Blair 
Maitland's  wildcats  for  that.  But  if  he  isn't  using  your 
money,  how  on  earth  can  he  speculate  ?  What  do  you 
mean  by  'his'  money?" 

"Why,"  she  explained,  surprised,  "he  has  all  that 
money  Mrs.  Maitland  gave  him  the  day  she  died." 

"What!" 

"Didn't  you  know  about  the  check?"  she  said;  she 
had  not  mentioned  it  to  him  herself,  partly  because  of 
their  tacit  avoidance  of  Blair's  name,  but  also  because 
she  had  taken  it  for  granted  that  he  was  aware  of  what 
Mrs.  Maitland  had  done.  She  told  him  of  it  now,  add 
ing,  in  a  smothered  voice,  "She  forgave  him  for  marrying 
me,  you  see,  at  the  end." 

He  was  silent  for  a  few  moments,  and  Elizabeth,  glanc 
ing  at  the  clock,  was  turning  to  go,  but  he  stopped  her. 
"Hold  on  a  minute.  I  don't  understand  this  business. 
Tell  me  all  about  it,  Elizabeth." 

She  told  him  what  little  she  knew,  rather  vaguely: 
Mrs  Maitland  had  drawn  a  check — no:  she  believed  it 

369 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

was  called  a  bank  certificate  of  deposit.  It  was  for  a 
great  deal  of  money.  When  she  told  him  how  much, 
Robert  Ferguson  struck  his  fist  on  the  arm  of  his  chair. 
"That's  it!"  he  said.  "That  is  where  David's  money 
went!" 

"David's  money?"  Elizabeth  said,  breathlessly. 

"I  see  it  now,"  he  went  on,  angrily;  "she  had  the 
money  on  hand;  that's  why  she  tried  to  write  that  letter. 
How  Fate  does  get  ahead  of  David  every  time!" 

"Uncle!     What  do  you  mean?" 

He  told  her,  briefly,  of  Mrs.  Maitland's  plan.  "She 
said  two  years  ago  that  she  was  going  to  give  David  a 
lump  sum.  I  didn't  know  she  had  got  it  salted  down — 
she  was  pretty  close-mouthed  about  some  things;  but 
I  guess  she  had.  Well,  probably,  at  the  last  minute, 
she  thought  she  had  been  hard  on  Blair,  and  decided 
to  hand  it  over  to  him,  instead  of  giving  it  to  David. 
She  had  a  right  to,  a  perfect  right  to.  But  I  don't  under 
stand  it!  The  very  day  she  spoke  of  writing  to  David, 
she  told  me  she  wouldn't  leave  Blair  a  cent.  It  isn't  like 
her  to  whirl  about  that  way — unless  it  was  during  one  of 
those  times  when  she  wasn't  herself.  Well,"  he  ended, 
sighing,  "there  is  nothing  to  be  done  about  it,  of  course; 
but  I'll  see  Nannie,  and  get  at  the  bottom  of  it,  just  for 
my  own  satisfaction." 

Elizabeth's  color  came  and  went;  she  reminded  her 
self  that  she  must  be  fair  to  Blair;  his  mother  had  a 
right  to  show  her  forgiveness  by  leaving  the  money  to 
him  instead  of  David.  Yes;  she  must  remember  that; 
she  must  be  just  to  him.  But  even  as  she  said  so  she 
ground  her  teeth  together. 

"  Blair  did  not  try  to  influence  his  mother,  Uncle 
Robert,"  she  said,  "if  that's  what  you  are  thinking  of. 
He  didn't  see  her  while  she  was  sick.  He  has  never 
seen  her  since — since — " 

"There  are  other  ways  of  influencing  people  than  by 
seeing  them.  He  wrote  to  Nannie,  didn't  he?" 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"If  I  thought,"  Elizabeth  said  in  a  low  voice,  "that 
Blair  had  induced  Nannie  to  influence  Mrs.  Maitland,  I 
would — "  But  she  did  not  finish  her  sentence.  "Good- 
by,  Uncle  Robert.  I'm  going  to  see  Nannie." 

As  she  hurried  down  toward  Shantytown  through  the 
Sunday  emptiness  of  the  hot  streets,  she  said  to  herself 
that  if  Nannie  had  made  her  stepmother  give  the  money 
to  Blair,  she,  Elizabeth,  would  do  something  about  it! 
"I  won't  have  it!"  she  said,  passionately. 

It  had  been  a  long  time  since  Elizabeth's  face  had 
been  so  vivid.  The  old  sheet-lightning  of  anger  began 
to  flash  faintly  across  it.  She  did  not  know  what  she 
would  do  to  Nannie  if  Nannie  had  induced  Mrs.  Maitland 
to  rob  David,  but  she  would  do  something!  Yet  when 
she  reached  the  house,  her  purpose  waited  for  a  minute; 
Nannie's  tremor  of  loneliness  and  perplexity  was  so 
pitifully  in  evidence  that  she  could  not  burst  into  her 
own  perplexity. 

She  had  been  trying,  poor  Nannie!  to  make  up  her 
mind  about  many  small,  crowding  affairs  incident  to  the 
situation.  In  these  weeks  since  Mrs.  Maitland's  death, 
Nannie,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  found  herself  obliged 
to  answer  questions.  Harris  asked  them:  "You  ain't 
a-goin'  to  be  livin'  here,  Miss  Nannie;  'tain't  no  use  to 
fill  the  coal-cellar,  is  it?"  Miss  White  asked  them: 
"Your  Mamma's  clothes  ought  to  be  put  in  camphor, 
dear  child,  or  else  given  away;  which  do  you  mean  to 
do?"  Blair  asked  them:  "When  will  you  move  out  of 
this  terrible  house,  Nancy  dear?"  A  dozen  times  a  day 
she  was  asked  to  make  up  her  mind,  she  whose  mind  had 
always  been  made  up  for  her! 

That  hot  Sunday  morning  when  Elizabeth  was  hurry 
ing  down  to  Shantytown  with  the  lightning  flickering  in 
her  clouded  eyes,  Nannie,  owing  to  Miss  White's  per 
sistence  about  camphor,  had  gone  into  Mrs.  Maitland's 
room  to  look  over  her  things. 

Oh,  these  "things"!  These  pitiful  possessions  that 
37i 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  helpless  dead  must  needs  leave  to  the  shrinking 
disposal  of  those  who  are  left !  How  well  every  mourner 
knows  them,  knows  the  ache  of  perplexity  and  dismay 
that  comes  with  the  very  touch  of  them.  It  is  not  the 
valuables  that  make  grief  shrink,  —  they  settle  them 
selves;  such-and-such  books  or  jewels  or  pieces  of  silver 
belong  obviously  to  this  or  that  side  of  the  family.  But 
what  about  the  dear,  valueless,  personal  things  that 
neither  side  of  the  family  wants  ?  Things  treasured  by 
the  silent  dead  because  of  some  association  unknown,  per 
haps,  to  those  who  mourn.  What  about  these  precious, 
worthless  things?  Mrs.  Maitland  had  no  personal  pos 
sessions  of  intrinsic  value,  but  she  had  her  treasures. 
There  was  a  little  calendar  on  her  bureau;  it  was  so 
old  that  Nannie  could  not  remember  when  it  had  not 
been  there  hanging  from  the  slender  neck  of  a  bottle 
of  German  cologne.  She  took  it  up  now,  and  looked 
at  the  faded  red  crescents  of  the  new  moon;  how  long 
ago  that  moon  had  waxed  and  waned!  "She  loved  it," 
Nannie  said  to  herself,  "because  Blair  gave  it  to  her." 
Standing  on  the  bureau  was  the  row  of  his  photographs; 
on  each  one  his  mother  had  written  his  age  and  the  date 
when  the  picture  had  been  taken.  In  the  disorder  of  the 
top  drawer,  tumbled  about  among  her  coarse  handker 
chiefs,  her  collars,  her  Sunday  black  kid  gloves,  were 
relics  of  her  son's  babyhood:  a  little  green  morocco 
slipper,  with  a  white  china  button  on  the  ankle- band; 
a  rubber  rattle,  cracked  and  crumbling.  .  .  .  What  is 
one  to  do  with  things  like  these  ?  Burn  them,  of  course. 
There  is  nothing  else  that  can  be  done.  Yet  the  mourner 
shivers  when  the  flame  touches  them,  as  though  the  cool 
fingers  of  the  dead  might  feel  the  scorch !  Poor,  fright 
ened  Nannie  was  the  last  person  who  could  light  such  a 
holy  fire ;  she  took  them  up — the  slipper  or  the  calendar, 
and  put  them  down  again.  "Poor  Mamma!"  she  said 
over  and  over.  Then  she  saw  a  bunch  of  splinters  tied 
together  with  one  of  Blair's  old  neckties;  she  held  it  in 

372 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

her  hand  for  a  minute  before  she  realized  that  it  was 
part  of  a  broken  cane.  She  did  not  know  when  or  why 
it  had  been  broken,  but  she  knew  it  was  Blair's,  and  her 
eyes  smarted  with  tears.  "Oh,  how  she  loved  him!" 
she  thought,  and  drew  a  breath  of  satisfaction  remem 
bering  how  she  had  helped  that  speechless,  dying  love 
to  express  itself. 

She  was  standing  there  before  the  open  drawer,  lifting 
things  up,  then  putting  them  back  again,  unable  to 
decide  what  to  do  with  any  of  them,  when  Elizabeth 
suddenly  burst  in : 

"Nannie!" 

"Oh,  I  am  so  glad  you've  come!"  Nannie  said.  She 
made  a  helpless  gesture.  "Elizabeth,  what  shall  I  do 
with  everything?" 

Elizabeth  shook  her  head;  the  question  which  she 
had  hurried  down  here  to  ask  paused  before  such  forlorn 
preoccupation. 

"Of  course  her  dresses  Harris  will  give  away — " 

"Oh  no!"  Elizabeth  interrupted,  shrinking.  "Don't 
give  them  to  a  servant." 

"But,"  poor  Nannie  protested,  "they  are  so  dread 
ful,  Elizabeth.  Nobody  can  possibly  wear  them,  except 
people  like  some  of  Harris's  friends.  But  things  like 
these — what  would  you  do  with  these?"  She  held  out 
a  discolored  pasteboard  box  broken  at  the  corners  and 
with  no  lid;  a  pair  of  onyx  earrings  lay  in  the  faded 
blue  cotton.  "I  never  saw  her  wear  them  but  once, 
and  they  are  so  ugly,"  Nannie  mourned. 

"Nannie,"  Elizabeth  said,  "I  want  to  ask  you  some 
thing.  That  certificate  Mrs.  Maitland  gave  Blair:  what 
made  her  give  it  to  him  ?" 

Nannie  put  the  pasteboard  box  back  in  the  drawer  and 
turned  sharply  to  face  her  sister-in-law,  who  was  sitting 
on  the  edge  of  Mrs.  Maitland's  narrow  iron  bed ;  the  scared 
attention  of  her  eyes  banished  their  vagueness.  "What 
made  her  give  it  to  him?  Why,  love,  of  course!  Don't 

373 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

you  suppose  Mamma  loved  Blair  better  than  anybody 
in  the  world,  even  if  he  did — displease  her?" 

"Uncle  thinks  you  may  have  influenced  her  to  give  it 
to  him." 

"I  did  not!" 

"Did  you  suggest  it  to  her,  Nannie?" 

"  I  asked  her  once,  while  she  was  ill,  wouldn't  she  please 
be  nice  to  Blair, — if  you  call  that  suggesting !  As  for 
the  certificate,  that  last  morning  she  sort  of  woke  up, 
and  told  me  to  bring  it  to  her  to  sign.  And  I  did." 

She  turned  back  to  the  bureau,  and  put  an  unsteady 
hand  down  into  the  drawer.  The  color  was  rising  in  her 
face,  and  a  muscle  in  her  cheek  twitched  painfully. 

"But  Nannie,"  Elizabeth  said,  and  paused;  the  dining- 
room  door  had  opened,  and  Robert  Ferguson  was  standing 
on  the  threshold  of  Mrs.  Maitland's  room  looking  in  at  the 
two  girls.  The  astonishment  he  had  felt  in  his  talk  with 
his  niece  had  deepened  into  perplexity.  "I  guess  I'll 
thresh  this  thing  out  now,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  picked 
up  his  hat.  He  was  hardly  ten  minutes  behind  Eliza 
beth  in  her  walk  down  to  the  Maitland  house. 

"Nannie,"  he  said,  kindly, — he  never  barked  at 
Nannie;  " can  you  spare  time,  my  dear,  to  tell  me  one  or 
two  things  I  want  to  know?"  He  had  come  in,  and 
found  a  dusty  wooden  chair.  "Go  ahead  with  your 
sorting  things  out.  You  can  answer  my  question  in  a 
minute;  it's  about  that  certificate  your  mother  gave 
Blair." 

Nannie  had  turned,  and  was  standing  with  her  hands 
behind  her  gripping  the  edge  of  the  bureau ;  she  gasped 
once  or  twice,  and  glanced  first  at  one  inquisitor  and  then 
at  the  other;  her  face  whitened  slowly.  She  was  like 
some  frightened  creature  at  bay;  indeed  her  agitation 
was  so  marked  that  Robert  Ferguson's  perplexity  har 
dened  into  something  like  suspicion .  ' '  Can  there  be  any 
thing  wrong  ?"  he  asked  himself  in  consternation.  "  You 
see,  Nannie,"  he  explained,  gently,  "I  happen  to  know 

374 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

that   your    mother    meant   it    for   David    Richie,   not 
Blair." 

"If  she  did,"  said  Nannie,  "she  changed  her  mind." 

"When  did  she  change  her  mind?" 

"  I  don't  know.  She  just  told  me  to  bring  the  check  to 
her  to  sign,  that — that  last  morning." 

"Was  she  perfectly  clear  mentally?" 

"Yes.     Yes.     Of  course  she  was !     Perfectly  clear." 

"Did  she  say  why  she  had  changed  her  mind ?" 

"No,"  Nannie  said,  and  suddenly  fright  and  anger  to 
gether  made  her  fluent;  "but  why  shouldn't  she  change 
her  mind,  Mr.  Ferguson  ?  Isn't  Blair  her  son  ?  Her 
only  son!  What  was  David  to  Mamma?  Would  you 
have  her  give  all  that  money  to  an  outsider,  and  leave  her 
only  son  penniless  ?  Perhaps  she  changed  her  mind  that 
morning.  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  I  don't  see 
what  difference  it  makes  when  she  changed  it,  so  long  as 
she  changed  it.  All  I  can  tell  you  is  that  she  told  me  to 
bring  her  the  check,  or  certificate,  or  whatever  you  call 
it,  out  of  the  little  safe.  And  I  did,  and  she  made  it  out 
to  Blair.  I  didn't  ask  her  to.  I  didn't  even  know  she 
had  it;  but  I  am  thankful  she  did  it!" 

Her  eyes  were  dilating;  she  put  her  shaking  hand  up 
to  her  throat,  as  if  she  were  struggling  for  breath.  Her 
statement  was  perfectly  reasonable  and  probable,  yet  it 
left  no  doubt  in  Robert  Ferguson's  mind  that  there  was 
something  wrong, — very  wrong!  Even  Elizabeth  could  see 
it.  They  both  had  the  same  thought :  Blair  had  in  some 
way  influenced,  perhaps  even  coerced  his  mother. 
How,  they  could  not  imagine,  but  Nannie  evidently 
knew.  They  looked  at  each  other  in  dismay.  Then 
Elizabeth  sprang  up  and  put  her  arms  around  her  sister- 
in-law.  "  Oh,  Uncle,"  she  said,  "  don't  ask  her  anything 
more  now!"  She  felt  the  quiver  through  all  the  terrified 
little  figure. 

"Mamma  wanted  Blair  to  have  the  money;  it's  his! 
No  one  can  take  it  from  him!" 

375 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Nobody  wants  to,  Nannie,  if  it  is  his  honestly," 
Robert  Ferguson  said,  gravely. 

"Honestly?"  Nannie  whispered,  with  dry  lips. 

"Nannie  dear,  tell  us  the  truth,"  Elizabeth  implored 
her;  "Uncle  won't  be  hard  on  Blair,  if — if  he  has  done 
wrong.  I  know  he  won't." 

"Wrong?"  said  Nannie;  "Blair  done  wrong?"  She 
pushed  Elizabeth's  arms  away;  "Blair  has  never  done 
wrong  in  his  life!"  She  stood  there,  with  her  back 
against  the  bureau,  and  dared  them.  "  I  won't  have  you 
suspect  my  brother!  Elizabeth!  How  can  you  let  Mr. 
Ferguson  suspect  Blair?" 

"Nannie,"  said  Robert  Ferguson,  "was  Blair  with  his 
mother  when  she  signed  that  certificate?" 

"No." 

"Were  you  alone  with  her?" 

Silence. 

"Answer  me,  Nannie." 

She  looked  at  him  with  wild  eyes,  but  she  said  nothing. 
Mr.  Ferguson  put  his  hand  on  her  shoulder.  "Nannie," 
he  said,  quietly,  "Blair  signed  it;  Blair  wrote  his 
mother's  name." 

"No!  No!  No!  He  did  not!  He  did  not."  There 
was  something  in  her  voice — a  sort  of  relief,  a  sort  of 
triumph,  even,  that  the  other  two  could  not  understand, 
but  which  made  them  know  that  she  was  speaking  the 
truth.  "He  did  not,"  Nannie  said,  in  a  whisper;  "if 
you  accuse  him  of  that,  I'll  have  to  tell  you;  though 
very  likely  you  won't  understand.  I  did  it.  For  Mam 
ma." 

"Did  what?"  Robert  Ferguson  gasped;  "not — ? 
You  don't  mean — ?  Nannie!  you  don't  mean  that 
you — "  he  stopped;  his  lips  formed  a  word  which  he 
would  not  utter. 

"Mamma  wanted  him  to  have  the  money.  The  day 
before  she  died  she  told  me  she  was  going  to  give  him  a 
present.  That  day,  that  last  day,  she  told  me  to  get  the 

376 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

check.  And  she  wrote  his  name  on  it.  No  one  asked 
her  to.  Not  Blair.  Not  I.  I  never  thought  *of  such  a 
thing!  I  didn't  even  know  there  was  a  check.  She 
wanted  to  do  it.  She  wrote  his  name.  And  then — she 
got  weak;  she  couldn't  go  on.  She  couldn't  sign  it. 
So  I  signed  it  for  her  .  .  .  later.  It  was  not  wrong. 
It  was  right.  It  carried  out  her  wish.  I  am  glad  I  did 
it." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

IT  was  not  a  confession;  it  was  a  statement.  In  the 
next  distressing  hour,  during  which  Robert  Ferguson 
succeeded  in  drawing  the  facts  from  Blair's  sister,  there 
was  not  the  slightest  consciousness  of  wrong-doing. 
Over  and  over,  with  soft  stubbornness,  she  asserted  her 
conviction:  "It  was  right  to  do  it.  Mamma  wanted  to 
give  the  money  to  Blair.  But  she  couldn't  write  her 
name.  So  I  wrote  it  for  her.  It  was  right  to  do  it." 

"Nannie,"  her  old  friend  said,  in  despair,  "don't  you 
know  what  the  law  calls  it,  when  one  person  imitates 
another  person's  handwriting  for  such  a  purpose." 

"You  can  call  it  anything  you  want  to,"  she  said, 
passionately.  "7  call  it  carrying  out  Mamma's  wishes. 
And  I  would  do  it  over  again  this  minute." 

Robert  Ferguson  was  speechless  with  dismay.  To 
find  rigidity  in  this  meek  mind,  was  as  if,  through  layers 
of  velvet,  through  fold  on  fold  of  yielding  dullness  that 
gave  at  the  slightest  touch,  he  had  suddenly,  at  some 
deeper  pressure,  felt,  under  the  velvet,  granite ! 

"  It  was  right,"  Nannie  said,  fiercely,  trembling  all  over, 
"it  was  right,  because  it  was  necessary.  Oh,  what  do 
your  laws  amount  to,  when  it  comes  to  dying?  When 
it  comes  to  a  time  like  that!  She  was  dying — you  don't 
seem  to  understand — Mamma  was  dying!  And  she 
wanted  Blair  to  have  that  money;  and  just  because  she 
hadn't  the  strength  to  write  her  name,  you  would  let 
her  wish  fail.  Of  course  I  wrote  it  for  her !  Yes;  I  know 
what  you  call  it.  But  what  do  I  care  what  it  is  called, 
if  I  carried  out  her  wish  and  gave  Blair  the  money  she 

378 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

wanted  him  to  have  ?  Now  he  has  got  it,  and  nobo  dy  can 
take  it  away  from  him." 

"My  dear  child,  if  he  kept  it,  it  would  be  stealing." 

"You  can't  steal  from  your  mother,"  Nannie  said; 
"Mamma  would  be  the  first  one  to  say  so!" 

Mr.  Ferguson  looked  over  at  his  niece  and  shook  his 
head;  how  were  they  to  make  her  understand?  "He 
can't  keep  it,  Nannie.  When  he  understands  that  it  isn't 
his,  he  will  simply  give  it  back  to  the  estate,  and  then 
it  will  come  to  you." 

"To  me?"  she  said,  astounded.  And  he  explained 
that  she  was  her  stepmother's  residuary  legatee.  She 
looked  blank,  and  he  told  her  the  meaning  of  the  term. 

"The  estate  is  going  to  meet  the  bequests  with  a  fair 
balance;  and  as  that  balance  will  come  to  you,  this 
money  you  gave  to  Blair  will  be  yours,  too." 

She  had  been  standing,  with  Elizabeth's  pitying  arms 
about  her;  but  at  the  shock  of  his  explanation  she 
seemed  to  collapse.  She  sank  down  in  a  chair,  panting. 
"It  wasn't  necessary!  I  could  have  just  given  it  to 
him." 

Later,  when  Robert  Ferguson  was  walking  home  with 
his  niece,  he,  too,  said,  grimly:  "Mo;  it  'wasn't  neces 
sary,'  as  she  says,  poor  child!  She  could  have  given  it 
to  him;  just  as  she  will  give  it  to  him,  now.  Well,  well, 
to  think  of  that  mouse,  Nannie,  upsetting  the  lion's 
plans!" 

Elizabeth  was  silent. 

"What  I  can't  understand,"  he  ruminated,  "is  how 
that  signature  could  pass  at  the  bank;  a  girl  like  Nannie 
able  to  copy  a  signature  so  that  a  bank  wouldn't  de 
tect  it!" 

"She  has  always  copied  Mrs.  Maitland's  writing," 
Elizabeth  said;  "that  last  week  Mrs.  Maitland  said  she 
could  not  tell  the  difference  herself." 

Robert  Ferguson  looked  perfectly  incredulous.  "It's 
astounding!"  he  said;  "and  it  would  be  impossible, — if 

379 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

it  hadn't  happened.  Well,  come  along  home  with  me, 
Elizabeth.  I  think  I'd  better  tell  you  just  how  the 
matter  stands,  so  that  you  can  explain  it  to  Blair.  I 
don't  care  to  see  him  myself — if  I  can  help  it.  But  in 
the  matter  of  transferring  the  money  to  the  estate,  we 
must  keep  Nannie's  name  out  of  it,  and  I  want  you  to 
tell  him  how  he  and  I  must  patch  it  up." 

"When  he  returns  it,  I  suppose  the  executors  will 
give  it  at  once  to  David?"  she  said. 

"  Of  course  not.  It  will  belong  to  the  estate.  Women 
have  no  financial  moral  sense!" 

"Oh!"   Elizabeth  said;   and  pondered. 

Just  as  he  was  pulling  out  his  latch-key  to  open  his 
front  door,  she  spoke  again:  "If  Nannie  gives  it  back  to 
him,  Blair  will  have  to  send  it  to  David,  won't  he?" 

"I  can't  go  into  Mr.  Blair  Maitland's  ideals  of  honor," 
her  uncle  said,  dryly.  "Legally,  if  Nannie  chooses  to 
make  him  a  gift,  he  has  a  right  to  keep  it." 

She  made  no  reply.  She  sat  down  at  the  library  table 
opposite  him,  and  listened  without  comment  to  the  in 
formation  which  he  desired  her  to  convey  to  Blair. 
But  long  before  she  got  back  to  the  hotel,  Blair  had 
had  the  information. 

Nannie,  left  to  herself  after  that  distressing  interview, 
sat  in  the  dusty  desolation  of  Mrs.  Maitland's  room,  her 
face  hidden  in  her  hands.  She  needn't  have  done  it. 
That  was  her  first  clear  thought.  The  strain  of  that 
dreadful  hour  alone  in  the  dining-room,  with  Death  be 
hind  the  locked  door,  had  been  unnecessary!  As  she 
realized  how  unnecessary,  she  felt  a  resentment  that 
was  almost  anger  at  such  a  waste  of  pain.  Then  into 
the  resentment  crept  a  little  fright.  Mr.  Ferguson's 
words  about  wrong-doing  began  to  have  meaning.  "Of 
course  it  was  against  the  law,"  she  told  herself,  "but 
it  was  not  wrong, — there  is  a  difference."  It  was  in 
credible  to  her  that  Mr.  Ferguson  did  not  see  the  dif 
ference.  "  Mamma  wouldn't  have  let  him  speak  so  to  me, 

380 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

if  she'd  been  here,"  she  thought,  and  her  lip  trembled; 
"oh,  I  wish  she  hadn't  died,"  she  said;  and  cried  softly 
for  a  minute  or  two.  Then  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  had 
better  go  to  the  River  House  and  tell  her  brother  the 
whole  story.  "If  Mr.  Ferguson  is  angry  about  it  per 
haps  Blair  had  better  pay  the  money  back  right  off;  of 
course  I'll  give  it  to  him  the  minute  it  comes  to  me;  but 
he  will  know  what  to  do  now." 

She  ran  up-stairs  to  her  own  room,  and  began  to  dress 
to  go  out,  but  she  was  so  nervous  that  her  fingers  were 
all  thumbs;  "I  don't  want  Elizabeth  to  tell  him,"  she 
said  to  herself;  and  tried  to  hurry,  dropping  her  hat-pin 
and  mislaying  her  gloves;  "oh,  where  is  my  veil!"  nhe 
said,  frantically. 

She  was  just  leaving  her  room  when  she  heard  Blair's 
voice  in  the  lower  hall:  "Nancy!  Where  are  you?" 

"I'm  coming,"  she  called  back;  and  came  running 
down-stairs.  "Oh,  Blair  dear,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  see 
you  so  much!"  By  that  time  she  was  on  the  verge  of 
tears,  and  the  flush  of  worry  in  her  cheeks  made  her  so 
pretty  that  her  brother  looked  at  her  appreciatively. 

"Black  is  mighty  becoming  to  you,  Nancy.  Nannie 
dear,  I  have  something  to  tell  you.  Come  into  the 
parlor!"  His  voice,  as  he  put  his  arm  around  her  and 
drew  her  into  the  room,  had  a  ring  in  it  which,  in  spite 
of  her  preoccupation,  caught  her  attention .  "Sit  down ! ' ' 
he  commanded;  and  then,  standing  in  front  of  her,  his 
handsome  face  alert,  he  told  her  that  he  was  not  going  to 
contest  his  mother's  will.  "I  pitched  up  a  penny,"  he 
said,  gaily;  "I  was  sick  and  tired  of  the  uncertainty. 
'Heads,  I  fight;  -tails,  I  cave.'  It  came  down  tails,"  he 
said,  with  a  half-sheepish  laugh.  "Well,  it  will  please 
Elizabeth  if  I  don't  fight.  I'll  go  into  business.  I  can 
get  a  partnership  in  Haines's  office.  He  is  a  stock 
broker,  you  know." 

Nannie's  attention  flagged;  in  the  nature  of  things 
she  could  not  understand  how  important  this  decision 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

was,  so  she  was  not  disturbed  that  it  should  have  been 
made  by  the  flip  of  a  penny.  Blair  was  apt  to  rely  upon 
chance  to  make  up  his  mind  for  him,  and  in  regard  to 
the  will,  heads  or  tails  was  as  good  a  chance  as  any.  In 
her  own  preoccupation,  she  had  not  realized  that  he  had 
reached  the  reluctant  conviction  that  in  any  effort  to 
break  the  will,  the  legal  odds  would  be  against  him. 
But  if  she  had  realized  it  she  would  have  known  that 
the  probable  hopelessness  of  litigation  would  not  have 
helped  him  much  in  reaching  a  decision,  so  the  penny 
judgment  would  not  have  surprised  her.  Blair,  as  he 
told  her  about  it,  was  in  great  spirits.  He  had  been 
entirely  sincere  in  his  reluctance  to  take  any  step  which 
might  indicate  contempt  for  his  mother's  late  (if  ade 
quate)  repentance;  so  now,  though  a  little  rueful  about 
the  money,  he  was  distinctly  relieved  that  his  taste  was 
not  going  to  be  sentimentally  offended.  He  meant  to 
live  on  what  his  mother  had  given  him  until  he  made  a 
fortune  for  himself.  For  he  was  going  to  make  a  fortune ! 
He  was  going  to  stand  on  his  own  legs.  He  was  going 
to  buy  Elizabeth's  interest  in  him  and  his  affairs,  buy 
even  her  admiration  by  making  this  sacrifice  of  not  fight 
ing  for  his  rights !  He  was  full  of  the  fervor  of  it  all 
as  he  stood  there  telling  his  sister  of  his  decision.  When 
he  had  finished,  he  waited  for  her  outburst  of  approval. 

But  she  only  nodded  nervously;  "  Blair,  Mr.  Ferguson 
says  you've  got  to  give  back  that  money;  Mamma's 
check,  you  know?" 

11  What?"  Blair  said;  he  was  standing  by  the  piano, 
and  as  he  spoke  he  struck  a  crashing  octave;  "what  on 
earth  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,  he — I — "  It  had  not  occurred  to  Nannie  that 
it  would  be  difficult  to  tell  Blair,  but  suddenly  it  seemed 
impossible.  "You  see,  Mamma  didn't  exactly — sign 
the  check." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  Blair  said,  suddenly 
attentive. 

382 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"She  wanted  you  to  have  the  money,"  Nannie  began, 
faintly. 

"Of  course  she  did;  but  what  do  you  mean  about 
not  signing  the  check  'exactly'  ?"  In  his  bewilderment, 
which  was  not  yet  alarm,  he  put  his  arm  around  her, 
laughing :  "  Nancy,  what  is  all  this  stuff  ?" 

"I  did  for  her,"  Nannie  said. 

"Did  what?" 

"Signed  it." 

"Nannie,  I  don't  understand  you;  do  you  mean  that 
mother  made  you  indorse  that  certificate?  Nancy,  do 
try  to  be  clear!"  He  was  uneasy  now;  perhaps  some 
ridiculous  legal  complication  had  arisen.  "Some  of 
their  everlasting  red  tape!  Fortunately,  I've  got  the 
money  all  right,"  he  said  to  himself,  dryly. 

"She  wrote  the  first  part  of  it,"  Nannie  began,  stam 
mering  with  the  difficulty  of  explaining  what  had  seemed 
so  simple ;  "but  she  hadn't  the  strength  to  sign  her  name, 
so  I — did  it  for  her." 

Her  brother  looked  at  her  aghast.  "Did  she  tell  you 
to?" 

"No;    she  .   .   .  was  dead." 

"Good  God!"  he  said.  The  shock  of  it  made  him  feel 
faint.  He  sat  down,  too  dumfounded  for  speech. 

"I  had  to,  you  see,"  Nannie  explained,  breathlessly; 
she  was  very  much  frightened,  far  more  frightened  than 
when  she  had  told  Mr.  Ferguson.  "  I  had  to,  because — 
because  Mamma  couldn't.  She  was  .  .  .  not  alive." 

Blair  suddenly  put  his  hands  over  his  face.  "You 
forged  mother's  name!"  His  consternation  was  like  a 
blow;  she  cringed  away  from  it :  "No;  I — just  wrote  it." 

"Nannie  I" 

"Somebody  had  to,"  she  insisted,  faintly. 

Blair  sprang  to  his  feet  and  began  to  pace  up  and  down 
the  room.  "This  is  awful.  I  haven't  a  cent!" 

"Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  gasp,  "as  far  as  that  goes  it 
doesn't  make  any  difference,  except  about  time.  Mr. 
25  383 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Ferguson  said  it  didn't  make  any  difference.  I'll  give  it 
all  back  to  you  as  soon  as  I  get  it.  Only  you'll  have  to 
give  it  back  first." 

"Nannie,"  he  said,  "for  Heaven's  sake,  tell  me  straight, 
the  whole  thing.' 

She  told  him  as  well  as  she  could;  speaking  with  that 
minute  elaboration  of  the  unimportant  so  characteristic 
of  minds  like  hers  and  so  maddening  to  the  listener. 
Blair,  in  a  fury  of  anxiety,  tried  not  to  interrupt,  but 
when  she  reached  Mr.  Ferguson's  assertion  that  the 
certificate  had  been  meant  for  David  Richie,  the  worried 
color  suddenly  dropped  out  of  his  face. 

' '  For — him  ?     Nannie ! ' ' 

"  No,  oh  no !  It  wasn't  for  David,  except  just  at  first — • 
before — not  when — "  She  was  perfectly  incoherent, 
"Let  me  tell  you,"  she  besought  him. 

"If  I  thought  she  had  meant  it  for  him,  I  would  send 
it  to  him  before  night!  Tell  me  everything,"  he  said, 
passionately. 

"I'm  trying  to,"  Nannie  stammered,  "but  you — you 
keep  interrupting  me.  I'll  tell  you  how  it  was,  if  you'll 
just  let  me,  and  not  keep  interrupting.  Perhaps  she  did 
plan  to  give  it  to  David.  Mr.  Ferguson  said  she  planned 
to  more  than  two  years  ago.  And  even  when  she  was 
sick  Mr.  Ferguson  thinks  she  still  meant  to." 

"I'll  fight  that  damned  will  to  my  last  breath!"  he 
burst  out.  Following  the  recoil  of  disgust  at  the  idea  of 
taking  anything — "anything  else" — that  belonged  to 
David  Richie,  came  the  shock  of  feeling  that  he  had 
been  tricked  into  the  sentimentality  of  forgiveness.  "I'll 
break  that  will  if  I  take  it  through  every  court  in  the 
land!" 

"But  Blair!  Mamma  didn't  mean  it  for  him  at  the 
last.  Don't  you  see?  Oh,  Blair,  listen!  Don't  be  so — 
terrible;  you  frighten  me,"  Nannie  said,  squeezing  her 
hands  hard  together  in  the  effort  to  keep  from  crying. 
" Listen:  she  told  me  on  Wednesday,  the  day  before  she 

384 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

died,  that  she  wanted  to  give  you  a  present.  She  said, 
'I  must  give  him  a  check.'  You  see,  she  was  beginning 
to  realize  how  wrong  her  will  was;  but  of  course  she 
didn't  know  she  was  going  to  die  or  she  would  have 
changed  it." 

"That  doesn't  follow,"  Blair  said. 

"Then  came  the  last  day" — Nannie  could  not  keep 
the  tears  back  any  longer;  "the  last  day;  but  it  was  too 
late  to  do  anything  about  the  will.  Why,  she  could 
hardly  speak,  it  was  so  near  the — the  end.  And  then  all 
of  a  sudden  she  remembered  that  certificate.  And  she 
opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  me  with  such  relief,  as  if 
she  said  to  herself,  'I  can  give  him  that!'  And  she  told 
me  to  bring  it  to  her.  And  she  kept  saying/ Blair — 
Blair — Blair.'  And  oh,  it  was  pitiful  to  see  her  hurry  so 
to  write  your  name !  And  then  she  wrote  it ;  but  before 
she  could  sign  her  name,  her  hand  sort  of — fell.  And  she 
tried  so  hard  to  raise  it  so  she  could  sign  it;  but  she 
couldn't.  And  she  kept  muttering  that  she  had  written 
it  'many  times,  many  times';  I  couldn't  just  hear  what 
she  said;  she  sort  of — mumbled,  you  know.  Oh,  it  was 
dreadful!" 

"And  then?"  Blair  said,  breathlessly.  Nannie  was 
speechless. 

"Then?"  he  insisted,  trembling. 

"Then  .  .  .  she  died,"  Nannie  whispered. 

"But  the  signature!     The  signature!     How — " 

"In  the  night,  I — "  She  stopped;  terror  spread  over 
her  face  as  wind  spreads  over  a  pool.  "In  the  night,  at 
three  o'clock,  I  came  down-stairs  and — "  She  stopped, 
panting  for  breath.  He  put  his  arm  around  her  sooth 
ingly. 

"Try  and  tell  me,  dear.  I  didn't  mean  to  be  savage." 
His  face  had  relaxed.  Of  course  it  was  dreadful,  this 
thing  Nannie  had  done;  but  it  was  not  so  dreadful  as  the 
thought  that  he  had  taken  money  intended  for  David 
Richie.  When  he  had  quieted  her,  and  she  was  able  to 

385 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

speak  again,  she  told  him  just  what  she  had  done  there 
in  the  dining-room  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

"But  didn't  you  know  it  was  wrong?"  he  said;  "that 
it  was  a  criminal  offense!"  He  could  not  keep  the  dis 
may  out  of  his  voice. 

"I  did  it  for  Mamma's  sake  and  yours,"  she  said, 
quailing. 

"Well,"  he  said,  and  in  his  relief  at  knowing  that  he 
need  not  think  of  David  Richie,  he  was  almost  gay — 
"well,  you  mustn't  tell  any  one  else  your  motive  for 
committing  a —  Nannie  suddenly  burst  out  crying. 
"  Mamma  wouldn't  say  that  to  me,"  she  said,  "Mamma 
was  never  cross  to  me  in  her  whole  life !  But  you  and  Mr. 
Ferguson — "  she  could  not  go  on,  for  tears.  He  was 
instantly  contrite  and  tender;  but  even  as  he  tried  to 
comfort  her,  he  frowned;  of  course  in  the  end  he  would 
suffer  no  loss,  but  the  immediate  situation  was  delicate 
and  troublesome.  "  I'll  have  to  go  and  see  Mr.  Fergu 
son,  I  suppose,"  he  said.  "You  mustn't  speak  of  it  to 
any  one,  dear;  things  really  might  get  serious,  if  any 
body  but  Mr.  Ferguson  knew  about  it.  Don't  tell  a 
soul;  promise  me?" 

-  She  promised,  and  Blair  left  her  very  soberly.  The 
matter  of  the  money  was  comparatively  unimportant; 
it  was  his,  subject  only  to  the  formality  of  its  transfer  to 
the  estate.  But  that  David  Richie  should  have  been 
connected  even  indirectly  with  his  personal  affairs  was 
exquisitely  offensive  to  him — and  Elizabeth  knew  about 
it!  "She's  probably  sitting  there  by  the  window,  look 
ing  like  that  robin,  and  thinking  about  him,"  he  said  to 
himself  angrily,  as  he  hurried  back  to  the  River  House. 
There  seemed  to  be  no  escape  from  David  Richie.  "1 
feel  like  a  dog  with  a  dead  hen  hanging  round  his  neck," 
he  said  to  himself,  in  grimly  humorous  disgust;  "I 
can't  get  away  from  him!" 

He  found  his  wife  in  their  parlor  at  the  hotel,  but  she 
was  not  in  that  listless  attitude  that  he  had  grown  to 

386 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

expect, — huddled  in  a  chair,  her  chin  in  her  hand,  her 
eyes  watching  the  slow  roll  of  the  river.  Instead  she  was 
alert. 

"  Blair!"  she  said,  almost  before  he  had  closed  the  door 
behind  him;  "I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

"I  know  about  it,"  he  said,  gravely;  "I  have  seen 
Nannie." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him  in  silence. 

"Would  you  have  supposed  that  Nannie,  Nannie,  of 
all  people!  would  have  had  the  courage  to  do  such  a 
thing?"  he  said,  nervously;  it  occurred  to  him  that  if  he 
could  keep  the  conversation  on  Nannie's  act,  perhaps 
that — that  name  could  be  avoided.  "Think  of  the  mere 
courage  of  it,  to  say  nothing  of  its  criminality." 

"She  didn't  know  she  was  doing  wrong." 

"No;  of  course  not.  But  it's  a  mighty  unpleasant 
matter." 

"Uncle  says  it  can  be  arranged  so  that  her  name 
needn't  come  into  it." 

"Of  course,"  he  agreed. 

Elizabeth  did  not  speak,  but  the  look  in  her  eyes  was  a 
demand. 

"  It's  going  to  be  rather  tough  for  us,  to  wait  until  she 
hands  it  over  to  me,"  Blair  said. 

"To  you?" 

The  moment  had  come!  He  came  and  knelt  beside 
her,  and  kissed  her;  she  did  not  repulse  him.  She  con 
tinued  to  look  at  him  steadily.  Then  very  gently,  she 
said,  "And  when  Nannie  gives  it  to  you,  what  will  you 
do  wit  hit?" 

Blair  drew  in  his  breath  as  if  bracing  himself  for  a 
struggle.  Then  he  got  on  his  feet,  pulled  up  one  of  the 
big,  plush-covered  arm-chairs,  took  out  his  cigarette- 
case,  and  struck  a  match.  His  hand  shook.  "Do  with 
it?  Why,  invest  it.  I  am  going  into  business,  Eliza 
beth .  I  decided  to  this  morning.  If  you  would  care 
to  know  why  I  have  given  up  the  idea  of  contesting  the 

387 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

will,  I'll  tell  you.  I  don't  want  to  bore  you,"  he  ended, 
wistfully.  Apparently  she  did  not  hear  him. 

"Did  Nannie  tell  you  that  that  money  was  meant  for 
a  hospital?" 

Blair  sat  up  straight,  and  the  match,  burning  slowly, 
scorched  his  fingers.  He  threw  it  down  with  an  exclama 
tion;  his  face  was  red  with  his  effort  to  speak  quietly. 
"She  told  me  of  your  uncle's  misunderstanding  of  the 
situation.  There  is  no  possible  doubt  that  my  mother 
meant  the  money  for  me.  If  I  thought  otherwise — " 

"  If  you  will  talk  to  Uncle  Robert,  you  will  think  other 
wise." 

"Of  course  I'll  go  and  see  Mr.  Ferguson;  I  shall 
have  to,  to  arrange  about  the  transfer  of  the  money  to  the 
estate,  so  that  it  can  come  back  to  me  through  the  legiti 
mate  channel  of  a  gift  from  Nannie ;  in  other  words,  she 
will  carry  out  my  mother's  purpose  legally,  instead — 
poor  old  Nannie!  of  carrying  it  out  criminally,  as  she 
tried  to  do.  But  I  won't  go  to  your  uncle  to  discuss 
my  mother's  purpose,  Elizabeth.  I  am  perfectly  satis 
fied  that  she  meant  to  give  me  that  money." 

She  was  silent. 

"Of  course,"  he  went  on,  "I  will  hear  what  Mr. 
Ferguson  has  to  say  about  this  idea  of  his — and  yours, 
too,  apparently,"  he  ended,  bitterly. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "and  mine."  The  words  seemed  to 
tingle  as  she  spoke  them. 

"Oh,  Elizabeth!"  he  cried,  "aren't  you  ever  going  to 
care  for  me  ?  You  actually  think  me  capable  of  keeping 
money  intended  for — some  one  else!" 

His  indignation  was  too  honest  to  be  ignored.  "I 
suppose  that  you  believe  it  is  yours,"  she  said  with  an 
effort;  "but  you  believe  it  because  you  don't  know  the 
facts.  When  you  see  Uncle  Robert,  you  will  not  believe 
it."  And  with  that  meager  acknowledgment  of  his 
honesty  he  had  to  be  content. 

They  did  not  speak  of  it  again  during  that  long  dull 

388 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Sunday  afternoon,  but  each  knew  that  the  other  thought 
of  nothing  else.  The  red  September  sun  was  sinking  into 
a  smoky  haze  on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  when  Blair 
suddenly  took  up  his  hat  and  went  out.  It  had  occurred 
to  him  that  if  he  could  correct  Robert  Ferguson's  mis 
apprehension,  Elizabeth  would  correct  hers.  He  would 
not  wait  for  business  hours  to  clear  himself  in  her  eyes ; 
he  would  go  and  see  her  uncle  at  once.  It  was  dusk 
when  he  pushed  into  Mr.  Ferguson's  library,  almost  in 
advance  of  the  servant  who  announced  him:  "Mr. 
Ferguson!"  he  said  peremptorily;  "Nannie  has  told  me. 
And  Elizabeth  gave  me  your  message.  I  have  come  to 
say  that  the  transfer  shall  be  made  at  once .  My  one  wish 
is  that  Nannie's  name  may  not  be  connected  with  it  in  any 
possible  way — of  course  she  is  as  innocent  as  a  child." 

"It  can  be  arranged  easily  enough,"  the  older  man 
said ;  he  did  not  rise  from  his  desk,  or  offer  his  hand. 

"But,"  Blair  burst  out,  "what  I  came  especially  to 
say  was  that  I  hear  you  are  under  the  impression  that 
my  mother  did  not,  at  the  end,  mean  me  to  have  that 
money?" 

"I  am  under  that  impression.  But,"  Robert  Fergu 
son  added,  contemptuously,  "you  need  not  be  too  upset 
Nannie  will  give  it  back  to  you." 

"I  am  not  in  the  least  upset!"  Blair  retorted;  "but 
whether  I'm  upset  or  not,  is  not  the  question.  The 
question  is,  did  my  mother  change  her  mind  about  her 
will,  and  try  to  make  up  for  it  in  this  way  ?  I  believe, 
from  all  that  I  know  now,  that  she  did.  But  I  have 
come  to  ask  you  whether  there  is  anything  that  I  don't 
know;  anything  Nannie  hasn't  told  me,  or  that  she 
doesn't  understand,  which  leads  you  to  feel  as  you  do?" 

"  You  had  better  sit  down." 

" If  it  was  just  Nannie's  idea,  I  will  break  the  will!" 

"You  had  better  sit  down,"  Mr.  Ferguson  repeated, 
coldly,  "and  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  business." 

Blair  sat  down;    his  hat,  which  he  had  forgotten  to 
389 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

take  off,  was  on  the  back  of  his  head;  he  leaned  forward, 
his  fingers  white  on  a  cane  swinging  between  his  knees; 
he  did  not  look  at  Elizabeth's  uncle,  but  his  eyes  showed 
that  he  did  not  lose  a  word  he  said.  At  the  end  of  the 
statement — brief,  fair,  spoken  without  passion  or  appar 
ent  prejudice — the  tension  relaxed  and  his  face  cleared; 
he  drew  a  great  breath  of  relief. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  Robert  Ferguson  ended,  "that  there 
can  be  no  doubt  of  your  mother's  intention." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  Blair  said,  triumphantly,  "there  is 
no  possible  doubt!  She  called  for  the  certificate  and 
wrote  my  name  on  it.  What  more  do  you  want  than 
that  to  prove  her  intention?" 

"  You  have  a  right  to  your  opinion,"  Mr.  Ferguson  said, 
"and  I  have  a  right  to  mine.  I  cannot  see  that  either 
opinion  affects  the  situation.  You  will,  as  a  matter  of 
common  honesty,  return  this  money  to  the  estate.  What 
Nannie  will  ultimately  do  with  it,  is  not  my  affair.  It 
is  between  you  and  her.  I  can't  see  that  we  need  dis 
cuss  the  matter  further."  He  took  up  his  pen  with  a 
gesture  of  dismissal. 

Blair's  face  reddened  as  if  it  had  been  slapped,  but 
he  did  not  rise.  "  I  want  you  to  know,  sir,  that  while  my 
sister's  act  is,  of  course,  entirely  indefensible,  and  I  shall 
immediately  return  the  money  which  she  tried  to  secure 
for  me,  I  shall,  nevertheless,  allow  her  to  give  it  back  to 
me,  because  it  is  my  conviction  that,  by  my  dying 
mother's  wish,  it  belongs  tome;  not  to — to  any  one 
else." 

"Your  convictions  have  always  served  your  wishes. 
I  will  bid  you  good-evening." 

For  an  instant  Blair  hesitated;  then,  still  scarlet  with 
anger,  took  his  departure.  Mr.  Ferguson's  belief  that  he 
was  capable  of  keeping  money  intended  for  —  for  any 
one  else,  .was  an  insult;  "an  abominable  insult!"  he 
told  himself.  And  it  was  Elizabeth's  belief,  too!  He 
drew  in  his  breath  in  a  groan.  "She  thinks  I  am  dis- 

390 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

honorable,"  he  said.  Well,  certainly  that  sneak,  Richie, 
would  feel  he  was  avenged  if  he  could  know  how  cruel  she 
was;  "damn  him,"  Blair  said,  softly. 

He  thought  to  himself  that  he  could  not  go  back  and 
tell. Elizabeth  what  her  uncle  had  said;  he  could  not  re 
peat  the  insult!  Some  time,  when  he  was  calmer,  he 
would  tell  her  quietly  that  he  had  been  wronged,  that 
she  herself  had  wronged  him.  But  just  now  he  could 
not  talk  to  her;  he  was  too  angry  and  too  miserable. 

So,  walking  slowly  in  the  foggy  dusk  that  was  pungent 
with  the  smoke  of  bonfires  on  the  flats,  he  suddenly 
wheeled  about  and  went  in  the  other  direction.  "I'll 
go  and  have  supper  with  Nannie,"  he  thought;  "I'm 
afraid  she  is  dreadfully  worried  and  unhappy, — and  all 
on  my  account,  dear  old  Nancy!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

"Do  you  think,"  Robert  Ferguson  wrote  Mrs.  Richie 
about  the  middle  of  September — "do  you  think  you 
could  come  to  Mercer  for  a  little  while  and  look  after 
Nannie  ?  The  poor  child  is  so  unhappy  and  so  incapa 
ble  of  making  up  her  mind  about  herself  that  I  am  un 
easy  about  her." 

"Of  course  I  will  go,"  Mrs.  Richie  told  her  son. 

David  had  come  down  to  the  little  house  on  the  sea 
shore  to  spend  Sunday  with  her,  and  in  the  late  afternoon 
they  were  sitting  out  on  the  sand  in  a  sunny,  sheltered 
spot  watching  the  slow,  smooth  heave  of  the  quiet  sea. 
David's  shoulder  was  against  her  knee,  his  pipe  had  gone 
out,  and  he  was  looking  with  lazy  eyes  at  the  slipping 
sparkle  of  sunshine  on  the  scarcely  perceptible  waves; 
sometimes  he  lifted  his  marine  glasses  to  follow  a  sail 
gleaming  like  a  white  wing  against  the  opalescent  east. 

"I  wonder  why  Nannie  is  unhappy,"  he  ruminated; 
"she  was  never,  poor  little  Nannie!  capable  of  appre 
ciating  Mrs.  Maitland;  so  I  don't  suppose  she  loved  her  ?" 

"She  loved  her  as  much  as  she  could,"  Mrs.  Richie 
said;  "and  that  is  all  any  of  us  can  do,  David.  But 
she  misses  her.  If  a  mountain  went  out  of  your  land 
scape,  wouldn't  you  feel  rather  blank?  Well,  Nannie's 
mountain  has  gone.  Yes;  I'll  go  and  stay  with  her, 
poor  child,  for  a  while,  and  perhaps  bring  her  back  for 
a  fortnight  with  us — if  you  wouldn't  mind?" 

"Of  course  I  wouldn't  mind.     Bring  her  along." 

"I  wonder  if  you  could  close  this  house  for  me?"  she 
said;  "I  don't  like  to  shut  it  up  now  and  leave  you 

392 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

without  a  roof  over  your  head  in  case  you  had  a  chance 
-to  take  a  day  off." 

"Of  course  I  can  close  it,"  he  said;  and  added  that 
if  he  couldn't  shut  up  a  bandbox  of  a  summer  cottage 
he  would  be  a  pretty  useless  member  of  society.  "I'll 
come  down  the  first  chance  I  get  in  the  next  fortnight. 
.  .  .  Mother,  I  suppose  you  will  see — her?" 

Mrs.  Richie  gave  him  a  startled  look.  "I  suppose  I 
shall." 

He  was  silent  for  several  minutes.  She  did  not  dare  to 
help  him  by  a  word.  Then,  as  if  he  had  wrenched  the 
question  up  by  the  roots,  torn  it  out  of  his  sealed 
heart,  he  said,  "Do  you  suppose  she  cares  for  him?" 

It  was  the  first  time  in  these  later  speechless  months 
that  he  had  turned  to  her.  Steadying  herself  on  that 
advice  of  Robert  Ferguson's:  'when  he  does  blurt  it  out 
don't  get  excited,'  she  answered,  calmly  enough,  "I 
don't  know." 

He  struck  his  heel  down  into  the  sand,  then  pulled  out 
his  knife  and  began  to  clean  the  bowl  of  his  pipe.  The 
blade  trembled  in  his  hand. 

"  Until  I  saw  her  in  May,"  he  said,  "  I  suppose  I  really 
thought —  I  didn't  formulate  it,  but  I  suppose  I 
thought  ..." 

"What?" 

"That  somehow  I  would  get  her  yet." 

"Oh,  David!"  she  breathed. 

He  glanced  at  her  cynically.  "Don't  get  agitated, 
Materna.  That  May  visit  cured  me.  I  know  I  won't. 
I  know  she  doesn't  care  for  me.  But  I  can't  tell  whether 
she  cares  for  him." 

"I  hope  she  does,"  she  said. 

At  which  he  laughed:  "Do  you  expect  me  to  agree 
to  that?" 

"David,  think  what  you  are  saying!" 

"My  dear  mother,  have  you  been  under  the  impres 
sion  that  I  am  a  saint?"  he  said,  dryly.  "If  so  let  me 

393 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

correct  you.  I  am  not.  Yes,  until  I  went  out  there  in 
May  I  always  had  the  feeling  that  I  would  get  her,  some 
how,  some  time."  He  paused;  his  knife  scraped  the 
bowl  of  his  pipe  until  the  fresh  wood  showed  under  the 
blade.  "I  don't  know  that  I  ever  exactly  admitted 
it  to  myself;  but  I  realize  now  that  the  feeling  was 
there." 

"You  shock  me  very  much,"  she  said;  and  leaning 
against  her  knee  he  felt  the  quiver  that  ran  through  her. 

"I  have  shocked  myself  several  times  in  the  last  few 
years,"  he  said,  briefly. 

His  mother  was  silent.     Suddenly  he  began  to  talk: 

"At  first — I  mean  when  it  happened;  I  thought  she 
would  send  for  me,  and  I  would  take  her  away  from  him, 
and  then  kill  him."  Her  broken  exclamation  made  him 
laugh.  "Don't  worry;  I  was  terribly  young  in  those 
days.  I  got  over  all  that.  It  was  only  just  at  first;  it 
was  the  everlasting  human  impulse.  The  cave-dweller 
had  it,  I  suppose,  when  somebody  stole  his  woman. 
But  it's  only  the  body  that  wants  to  kill.  The  mind 
knows  better.  The  mind  knows  that  life  can  be  a  lot 
better  punishment  than  death.  I  knew  he'd  get  his 
punishment  and  I  was  willing  to  wait  for  it.  I  thought 
that  when  she  left  him,  his  hell  would  be  as  hot  as  mine. 
I  took  it  for  granted  that  she  would  leave  him.  I 
thought  there  would  be  a  divorce,  and  then" — his  voice 
was  smothered  to  the  breaking-point;  "then  I  would  get 
her.  Or  I  would  get  her  without  a  divorce." 

"David!" 

.He  did  not  seem  to  hear  her;  his  elbows  were  on  his 
knees,  his  chin  on  his  two  fists;  he  spoke  as  if  to  him 
self;  "Well;  she  didn't  leave  him.  I  suppose  she 
couldn't  forgive  me.  Curious,  isn't  it?  how  the  mind 
can  believe  two  entirely  contradictory  things  at  the  same 
time:  I  realized  she  couldn't  forgive  me, — yet  I 
still  thought  I  would  get  her,  somehow.  Meantime,  I 
consoled  myself  with  the  reflection  that  even  if  she  hated 

394 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

me  for  having  pushed  her  into  his  arms,  she  hated  him 
worse.  I  thought  that  where  I  had  been  stabbed  once, 
he  would  be  stabbed  a  thousand  times."  David  spoke 
with  that  look  of  primitive  joy  which  must  have  been 
on  the  face  of  the  cave-dweller  when  he  felt  the  blood 
of  his  enemy  spurt  warm  between  his  fingers. 

Helena  Richie  gave  a  little  cry  and  shrank  back. 
These  were  the  thoughts  that  her  boy  had  built  up 
between  them  in  these  silent  years!  He  gave  her  a 
faintly  amused  glance. 

"  Yes,  I  had  my  dreams.  Bad  dreams  you  would  call 
them,  Materna.  Now  I  don't  dream  any  more.  After  I 
saw  her  in  May,  I  got  all  over  such  nonsense.  I  realized 
that  perhaps  she  .  .  .  loved  him." 

His  mother  was  trembling.  "It  frightens  me  that 
you  should  have  had  such  thoughts,"  she  said.  She 
actually  looked  frightened;  her  leaf -brown  eyes  were 
wide  with  terror. 

Her  son  nuzzled  his  cheek  against  her  hand;  "Bless 
your  dear  heart !  it  frightens  you,  because  you  can't  un 
derstand.  Materna,  there  are  several  things  you  can't 
understand — and  I  shouldn't  like  it  if  you  could!"  he 
said,  his  face  sobering  with  that  reverent  look  which  a 
man  gives  only  to  his  mother;  "There  is  the  old  human 
instinct,  that  existed  before  laws  or  morals  or  anything 
else,  the  man's  instinct  to  keep  his  woman.  And  next 
to  that,  there  is  the  realization  that  when  it  comes  to 
what  you  call  morals,  there  is  a  morality  higher  than 
the  respectability  you  good  people  care  so  much  about- 
the  morality  of  nature.  But  of  course  you  don't  un 
derstand,"  he  said  again,  with  a  short  laugh. 

"I  understand  a  good  many  things,  David." 

"Oh,  well,  I  didn't  mean  to  talk  about  it,"  he  said, 
sighing;  "I  don't  know  what  started  me;  and — and 
I'm  not  howling,  you  know.  I  was  only  wondering 
whether  you  thought  she  had  come  to  care  for  him?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  faintly. 
395 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

He  snapped  his  knife  shut .  ' '  Neither  do  I.  But  I  guess 
she  does.  Nature  is  a  big  thing,  Materna.  When  a  girl's 
loyalty  comes  up  against  that,  it  hasn't  much  show;  es 
pecially  when  nature  is  assisted  by  behavior  like  mine. 
Yes,  I  guess  by  this  time  she  loves  him.  I'll  never  get  her." 

"Oh,  David,"  his  mother  said,  tremulously,  "if  you 
could  only  meet  some  nice,  sweet  girl,  and — " 

"Nice  girl?"  he  said,  smiling.  "They're  scarce, 
Materna,  they're  scarce.  But  I  mean  to  get  married 
one  of  these  days.  A  man  in  my  trade  ought  to  be 
married.  I  sha'n't  bother  to  look  for  one  of  those 
'sweet  girls,'  however.  I've  got  over  my  fondness  for 
sugar.  No  more  sentimentalities  for  me,  thank  you.  I 
shall  marry  on  strictly  common-sense  principles:  a  good 
housekeeper,  who  has  good  sense,  and  good  looks — " 

"And  a  good  temper,  I  hope,"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  al 
most  with  temper  herself;  and  who  can  blame  her? — 
he  had  been  so  cruelly  injured!  The  sweetness,  the  si 
lent,  sunny  honesty  of  the  boy,  the  simple  belief  in  the 
goodness  of  his  fellow-creatures,  had  been  changed  to 
this!  Oh,  she  could  almost  hate  the  girl  who  had  done 
it!  "A  good  temper  is  more  important  than  anything 
else,"  she  said,  hotly. 

Instantly  the  dull  cynicism  of  his  face  flashed  into 
anger.  "Elizabeth's  temper, — I  suppose  that  is  what 
you  are  referring  to;  her  temper  was  not  responsible 
for  what  happened.  It  was  my  assinine  conceit." 

She  winced.  "I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you,"  she  said. 
He  was  silent.  "But  it  is  terrible  to  have  you  so  hard, 
David." 

"Hard?  I?  I  am  a  mush  of  amiability.  Come 
now!  I  oughtn't  to  have  made  you  low-spirited.  It's 
all  an  old  story.  I  was  only  telling  you  how  I  felt  at 
first.  As  for  bad  thoughts, — I  haven't  any  thoughts 
now,  good  or  bad!  I  am  a  most  exemplary  person.  I 
don't  know  why  I  slopped  over  to  you,  anyhow.  So 
don't  think  of  it  again.  Materna!  Can  you  see  that 

396 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

sail?"       He  was  looking  through  his  glasses;    "it's  the 
eleventh  since  we  came  out  here." 

"But  David,  that  you  should  think — " 
"Oh,  but  I  don't  think  any  more,"  he  declared,  watch 
ing  the  flitting  white  gleam  on  the  horizon;  "I  always 
avoid  thinking,  nowadays.  That's  why  I  am  such  a 
promising  young  medical  man.  I'm  all  right  and  per 
fectly  happy.  I'll  hold  my  base,  I  promise  you!  That's 
a  brig,  Materna.  Do  you  know  the  difference  between  a 
brig  and  a  schooner  ?  I  bet  you  don't." 

Apparently  the  moment  of  confidence  was  over;  he 
had  opened  his  heart  and  let  her  see  the  blackness  and 
bleakness;  and  now  he  was  closing  it  again.  She  was 
silent.  David  thrust  his  pipe  into  his  pocket  and  turned 
to  help  her  to  rise;  but  she  had  hidden  her  face  in  her 
hands.  "It  is  my  fault,"  she  said,  with  a  gasp;  "it 
must  be  my  fault !  Oh,  David,  have  1  made  you  wicked  ? 
If  you  had  had  a  different  mother — "  Instantly  he 
was  ashamed  of  himself. 

"Materna!  I  am  a  brute  to  you,"  he  said.  He  flung 
his  arm  around  her,  and  pressed  his  face  against  hers; 
"I  wish  somebody  would  kick  me.  You  made  me 
wicked?  You  are  the  only  thing  that  has  kept  me 
anyways  straight!  Mother — I've  been  decent;  your 
goodness  has  saved  me  from — several  things.  I  want 
you  to  know  that.  I  would  have  gone  right  straight  to 
the  devil  if  it  hadn't  been  for  your  goodness.  As  for 
how  I  felt  about  Elizabeth,  it  was  just  a  mood;  don't 
think  of  it  again." 

"But  you  said,"  she  whispered;  "without  a  divorce." 
"Well,  I — I  didn't  mean  it,  I  guess,"  he  comforted  her; 
"anyhow,  the  jig  is  up,  dear.  Even  if  I  had  a  bad 
moment  now  and  then  in  the  first  year,  nothing  came  of 
it.  Oh,  mother,  what  a  beast  I  am!"  He  was  pressing 
his  handkerchief  against  her  tragic  eyes.  "  Your  fault  ? 
Your  only  fault  is  being  so  perfect  that  you  can't  under 
stand  a  poor  critter  like  me!" 

397 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"I  do  understand.     I  do  understand." 

In  spite  of  himself,  David  laughed.  "You!  That's 
rich."  He  looked  at  her  with  his  old,  good  smile,  tender 
and  inarticulate.  "What  would  I  have  done  without 
you  ?  You've  stood  by  and  put  up  with  my  cussedness 
through  these  three  devilish  years.  It's  almost  three 
years,  you  know,  and  yet  I — I  don't  seem  to  get  over  it 
— Oh,  I'm  a  perfect  girl!  How  can  you  put  up  with 
me?"  He  laughed  again,  and  hugged  her.  "Mother, 
sometimes  I  almost  wish  you  weren't  so  good." 

"David,"  she  burst  out  passionately,  "I  am — "  She 
stopped,  trembling. 

"  I  take  it  back,"  he  apologized,  smiling;  "  I  seem  bent 
on  shocking  you  to-day.  You  can  be  as  good  as  you 
want.  Only,  once  in  a  while  you  do  seem  a  little  remote. 
Elizabeth  used  to  say  she  was  afraid  of  you.*' 

"Of  me!" 

"Well,  an  angel  like  you  never  could  quite  understand 
her,"  he  said,  soberly. 

His  mother  was  silent ;  then  she  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"  I  am  not  an  angel ;  but  perhaps  I  haven't  understood 
her.  I  can  understand  love,  but  not  hate.  Elizabeth 
never  loved  you ;  she  doesn't  know  the  meaning  of  love." 

"You  are  mistaken,  dear,"  he  said,  gently. 

They  went  back  to  the  house  very  silently;  David's 
confidences  were  over,  but  they  left  their  mark  on  his 
mother's  face.  She  showed  the  strain  of  that  talk  even  a 
week  later  when  she  started  on  her  kindly  mission  to 
cheer  poor  Nannie.  On  the  hazy  September  morning, 
when  Robert  Ferguson  met  her  in  the  big,  smoky  station 
at  Mercer,  there  were  new  lines  of  care  in  her  face.  Her 
landlord,  as  he  persisted  in  calling  himself,  noticed  them, 
and  was  instantly  cross;  crossness  being  his  way  of  ex 
pressing  anxiety. 

"  You  look  tired,"  he  scolded,  as  he  opened  the  carriage 
door  for  her,  "you've  got  to  rest  at  my  house  and  have 
something  to  eat  before  you  go  to  Nannie's;  besides,  you 

398 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

don't  suppose  I  got  you  on  here  just  to  cheer  her  ?  You've 
got  to  cheer  me,  too!  It's  enough  to  give  a  man  melan 
cholia  to  live  next  to  that  empty  house  of  yours,  and  you 
owe  it  to  me  to  be  pleasant — if  you  can  be  pleasant," 
he  barked. 

But  his  barking  was  strangely  mild.  His  words  were 
as  rough  as  ever,  but  he  spoke  with  a  sort  of  eager  gentle 
ness,  as  if  he  were  trying  to  make  his  voice  soft  enough 
for  some  unuttered  pitifulness.  She  was  so  pleased  to 
see  him,  and  to  hear  the  kind,  gruff  voice,  that  for  a  min 
ute  she  forgot  her  anxiety  about  David,  and  laughed. 
And  when  her  eyes  crinkled  in  that  old,  gay  way,  it 
seemed  to  Robert  Ferguson,  looking  at  her  with  yearn 
ing,  as  if  Mercer,  and  the  September  haze,  and  the  grimy 
old  depot  hack  were  suddenly  illuminated. 

" Oh,  these  children !"  he  said ;  "they  are  worrying  me 
to  death.  Nannie  won't  budge  out  of  that  old  house; 
it  will  have  to  be  sold  over  her  head,  to  get  her  into  a 
decent  locality.  Elizabeth  isn't  well,  but  the  Lord  only 
knows  what's  the  matter  with  her.  The  doctor  says 
she's  all  right,  but  she's  as  grumpy  as — her  uncle;  you 
can't  get  a  word  out  of  her.  And  Blair  has  been  specu 
lating," — he  was  so  cross  that,  when  at  his  own  door 
he  put  out  his  hand  to  help  her  from  the  carriage,  she 
patted  his  arm,  and  said,  "Come;  cheer  up!" 

At  which,  smiling  all  over  his  face,  he  growled  at  her  that 
it  was  a  pretty  thing  to  expect  a  man  to  cheer  up,  with 
an  empty  house  on  his  hands.  "  You  seem  to  think  I'm 
made  of  money!  You  take  the  house  now;  don't  wait 
till  that  callow  doctor  is  ready  to  settle  down  here.  If 
you'll  move  in  now,  I'll  cheer  up — and  give  Elizabeth  the 
rent  for  pin-money."  He  was  really  cheerful  by  this 
time  just  because  he  was  able  to  scold  her,  but  behind  his 
scolding  there  was  always  this  new  gentleness.  Later, 
when  he  spoke  again  of  the  house,  her  face  fell. 

"I  am  doubtful  about  our  coming  to  Mercer." 

"Doubtful?"  he  said;  "what's  all  this?  There  never 
26  399 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

was  a  woman  yet  who  knew  her  own  mind  for  a  day  at  a 
time — except  Mrs.  Maitland.  You  told  me  that  David 
was  coming  here  next  spring,  and  I've  been  keeping  this 
house  for  you;  I've  lost  five  months'  rent" — there  was 
a  worried  note  in  his  voice;  "what  in  thunder?"  he 
demanded. 

Mrs.  Richie  sighed.  "I  don't  suppose  I  ought  to  tell 
you,  but  I  can't  seem  to  help  it.  I  discovered  the  other 
day  that  David  is  not  heart-whole,  yet.  He  is  dread 
fully  bitter;  dreadfully!  I  don't  believe  it's  prudent 
for  him  to  live  in  Mercer.  Do  you?  He  would  be  con 
stantly  seeing  Elizabeth." 

She  had  had  her  breakfast,  and  they  had  gone  into 
Mr.  Ferguson's  garden  so  that  he  might  throw  some 
crumbs  to  the  pigeons  and  smoke  his  morning  cigar  before 
taking  her  to  the  Maitland  house.  They  were  sitting 
now  in  the  long  arbor,  where  the  Isabella  grapes  were 
ripening  sootily  in  the  sparse  September  sunshine  which 
sifted  down  between  the  yellowing  leaves,  and  touched 
Mrs.  Richie's  brown  hair;  Robert  Ferguson  saw,  with  a 
pang,  that  there  were  some  white  threads  in  the  soft 
locks.  His  eyes  stung,  so  he  barked  as  gruffly  as  he 
could. 

"Well,  suppose  he  does  see  her?  You  can't  wrap  him 
up  in  cotton  batting  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  That's  what 
you've  always  tried  to  do,  you  hen  with  one  chicken! 
For  the  Lord's  sake,  let  him  alone.  Let  him  take  his 
medicine  like  any  other  man.  After  he  gets  over  the 
nasty  taste  of  it,  he'll  find  there's  sugar  in  the  world  yet; 
just  as  I  did.  Only  I  hope  he  won't  be  so  long  about  it 
as  I  was." 

She  sighed,  and  her  soft  eyes  filled.  "But  you  don't 
know  how  he  talked.  Oh,  I  can't  help  thinking  it  must 
be  my  fault!  If  he  had  had  another  kind  of  a  mother, 
if  his  own  mother  had  lived — " 

"Own  grandmother!"  said  Robert  Ferguson,  disgust 
edly  ;  ' '  the  only  trouble  with  you  as  a  mother,  is  that 

400 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

you've  been  too  good  to  the  cub.  If  you'd  knocked  his 
head  against  the  wall  once  or  twice,  you'd  have  made  a 
man  of  him.  My  dear,  you  really  must  not  be  a  goose, 
you  know.  It's  the  one  thing  I  can't  stand.  Helena," 
he  interrupted  himself,  chuckling,  "you  will  be  pleased 
to  know  that  Cherry-pie  (begging  her  pardon!)  thinks 
that  David  will  ultimately  console  himself  by  falling  in 
love  with  Nannie!  'It  would  be  very  nice,'  she  says.u 

They  both  laughed,  then  David's  mother  sighed: 
"But  just  think  how  delightful  to  feel  that  life  is  as 
simple  as  that,"  she  said. 

Robert  Ferguson  picked  a  grape,  and  took  careful 
aim  at  a  pigeon;  "Helena,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
"before  you  see  Nannie,  perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you 
something.  I  wouldn't,  only  I  know  she  will,  and  you 
ought  to  understand  it.  Can  you  keep  a  secret?" 

"I  can,"  Mrs.  Richie  said  briefly. 

"I  believe  it,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  dryness.  Then 
he  told  her  the  story  of  the  certificate. 

"What!     Nannie  forged?     Nannie!" 

"We  don't  use  that  word;  it  isn't  pretty.  But  that's 
what  it  amounts  to,  of  course.  And  that's  where  David's 
money  went." 

"I  suppose  Mrs.  Maitland  changed  her  mind  at  the 
last,"  Mrs.  Richie  said;  "well,  I'm  glad  she  did.  It 
would  have  been  too  cruel  if  she  hadn't  given  something 
to  Blair." 

"I  don't  think  she  did,"  he  declared;  "changing  her 
mind  wasn't  her  style;  she  wasn't  one  of  your  weak 
womanish  creatures.  She  wouldn't  have  said  she  was 
coming  to  live  in  Mercer,  and  then  tried  to  back  out 
of  it!  No,  she  simply  wrote  Blair's  name  by  mistake. 
Her  mind  wandered  constantly  in  those  last  days.  And 
seeing  what  she  had  done,  she  didn't  indorse  it." 

Mrs.  Richie  looked  doubtful.  "I  think  she  meant  it 
for  him." 

Robert  Ferguson  laughed  grimly.  "/  think  she 
401 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

didn't;  but  you'll  be  a  great  comfort  to  Nannie.  Poor 
Nannie!  She  is  unhappy,  but  not  in  the  least  repentant. 
She  insists  that  she  did  right !  Would  you  have  supposed 
that  a  girl  of  her  age  could  be  so  undeveloped,  morally  ?" 

"She's  only  undeveloped  legally,"  she  amended;  "and 
what  can  you  expect?  What  chance  has  she  had  to 
develop  in  any  way?" 

"She  had  the  chance  of  living  with  one  of  the  finest 
women  I  ever  knew,"  he  said,  stiffly,  and  paused  for 
their  usual  wrangle  about  Mrs.  Maitland.  As  they  rose 
to  go  indoors,  he  looked  at  his  guest,  and  shook  his  head. 
"Oh,  Helena,  how  conceited  you  are!" 

"  I  ?     Conceited  ?"  she  said,  blankly. 

"You  think  you  are  a  better  judge  than  I  am,"  he 
complained. 

"Nonsense!"  she  said,  blushing  charmingly;  but  she 
insisted  on  walking  down  to  Nannie's,  instead  of  letting 
him  take  her  in  the  carriage;  a  carriage  is  not  a  good 
place  to  ward  off  a  proposal. 

At  the  Maitland  house  she  found  poor  Nannie  wan 
dering  vaguely  about  in  the  garret.  "I  am  putting 
away  Mamma's  clothes,"  she  said,  helplessly.  But  a 
minute  later  she  yielded,  with  tears  of  relief,  to  Mrs. 
Richie's  placid  assumption  of  authority: 

"I  am  going  to  stay  a  week  with  you,  and  to-morrow 
I'll  tell  you  what  to  do  with  things.  Just  now  you  must 
sit  down  and  talk  to  me." 

And  Nannie  sat  down,  with  a  sigh  of  comfort.  There 
were  so  many  things  she  wanted  to  say  to  some  one  who 
would  understand!  "And  you  do  understand,"  she  said, 
sobbing  a  little.  "Oh,  I  am  so  lonely  without  Mamma! 
She  and  I  always  understood  each  other.  You  know 
she  meant  the  money  for  Blair,  don't  you,  Mrs.  Richie  ? 
Mr.  Ferguson  won't  believe  me!" 

"Yes;  I  am  sure  she  did,"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  heartily; 
"but  dear,  you  ought  not  to  have — " 

Nannie,  comforted,  said :  "Well,  perhaps  not ;  consider- 
402 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ing  that  I  can  give  it  to  him.  But  I  didn't  know  that, 
you  know,  when  I  did  it."  Pretty  much  all  that  day, 
poor  Nannie  poured  out  her  full  little  heart  to  her  kind 
listener;  they  sat  down  together  at  the  office-dining- 
room  table — at  the  head  of  which  stood  a  chair  that  no 
one  ever  dreamed  of  occupying;  and  Harris  shuffled 
about  as  he  had  for  nearly  thirty  years,  serving  coarse 
food  on  coarse  china,  and  taking  a  personal  interest  in 
the  conversation.  After  dinner  they  went  into  Nannie's 
parlor  that  smelt  of  soot,  where  the  little  immortal  canvas 
still  hung  in  its  gleaming  gold  frame  near  the  door,  and 
the  cut  glass  of  the  great  chandeliers  sparkled  faintly 
through  slits  in  the  old  brown  paper-muslin  covers. 
Sometimes,  as  they  talked,  the  house  would  shake,  and 
Nannie's  light  voice  be  drowned  in  the  roar  of  a  passing 
train  whose  trail  of  smoke  brushed  against  the  windows 
like  feathers  of  darkness.  But  Nannie  gave  no  hint  that 
she  would  ever  go  away  and  leave  the  smoke  and  noise, 
and  just  at  first  Mrs.  Richie  made  no  such  suggestion. 
She  did  nothing  but  infold  the  vague,  frightened,  un 
happy  girl  in  her  own  tranquillity.  Sometimes  she  lured 
her  out  to  walk  or  drive,  and  once  she  urged  her  to  ask 
Elizabeth  and  Blair  to  come  to  supper. 

"Oh,  Blair  won't  come  while  you  are  here!"  Nannie 
said,  simply;  and  the  color  came  into  David's  mother's 
face.  "I  know,"  Nannie  went  on,  "that  Elizabeth 
thinks  Mamma  meant  that  money  for  David.  And  she 
is  not  pleased  because  Mr.  Ferguson  won't  make  the 
executors  give  it  to  him." 

Mrs.  Richie  laughed.  "Well,  that  is  very  foolish  in 
Elizabeth;  nobody  could  give  your  mother's  money  to 
David.  I  must  straighten  that  out  with  Elizabeth." 

But  she  did  not  have  a  chance  to  do  so;  Elizabeth  as 
well  as  Blair  preferred  not  to  come  to  the  old  house  while 
David's  mother  was  there.  And  Mrs.  Richie,  unable 
to  persuade  Nannie  to  go  back  to  Philadelphia  with  her, 
stayed  on,  in  the  kindness  of  her  heart,  for  still  another 

403 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

week.  When  she  finally  fixed  a  day  for  her  return,  she 
said  to  herself  that  at  least  Blair  and  Elizabeth  would 
not  be  prevented  by  her  presence  from  doing  what  they 
could  to  cheer  Nannie. 

"But  is  she  going  to  live  on  in  that  doleful  house  for 
ever?"  Robert  Ferguson  protested. 

"She's  like  a  poor  little  frightened  snail,"  Helena 
Richie  said.  "  You  don't  realize  the  shock  to  her  of  that 
night  when  she — she  tried  to  do  what  she  thought  Mrs. 
Maitland  wanted  to  have  done.  She  is  scared  still.  She 
just  creeps  in  and  out  of  that  dingy  front  door,  or  about 
those  awful,  silent  rooms.  It  will  take  time  to  bring  her 
into  the  sunshine." 

"Helena,"  he  said,  abruptly — she  and  Nannie  had  had 
supper  with  him  and  were  just  going  home;  Nannie  had 
gone  up-stairs  to  put  on  her  hat.  "Helena,  I've  been 
thinking  a  good  deal  about  your  cruelty  to  me." 

She  laughed:   "Oh,  you  are  impossible!" 

"No,  I'm  only  permanent.  Don't  laugh;  just  listen 
to  me."  He  was  evidently  nervous;  the  old  friendly 
bullying  had  been  put  aside ;  he  was  very  grave,  and  was 
plainly  finding  it  difficult  to  say  what  he  wanted  to  say : 
"I  don't  know  what  your  reason  is  for  refusing  me,  but 
I  know  it  isn't  a  good  reason.  You  are  fond  of  me,  and 
yet  you  keep  on  saying  '  no '  in  this  exasperating  way ; — 
upon  my  word,"  he  interrupted  himself,  despairingly,  "I 
could  shake  you,  sometimes,  it  is  so  exasperating!  You 
like  me,  well  enough;  but  you  won't  marry  me." 

"No,  I  won't,"  she  assured  him,  gently. 

"It  is  so  unreasonable  of  you,"  he  said,  simply,  "that 
it  makes  me  think  you've  got  some  bee  in  your  bonnet; 
some  silly  woman-notion.  You  think — Heaven  knows 
what  you  think!  perhaps  that — that  you  ought  not  to 
marry  because  of  something — anything — "  he  stam 
mered  with  earnestness;  "but  I  want  you  to  know 
this:  that  I  don't  care  what  your  reason  is!  You  may 
have  committed  murder,  for  all  the  difference  it  makes 

404 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  me."  The  clumsy  and  elaborate  lightness  of  his  words 
trembled  with  the  seriousness  of  his  voice.  "You  may 
have  broken  every  one  of  the  Ten  Commandments;  / 
don't  care!  Helena,  do  you  understand?  It's  nothing 
to  me!  You  may  have  broken — all  of  them."  He  spoke 
with  solemn  passion,  holding  out  his  hands  toward  her; 
his  voice  shook,  but  his  melancholy  face  was  serene 
with  knowledge  and  understanding.  "Oh,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  "I  love  you  and  you  are  fond  of  me.  That's  all  I 
care  about!  Nothing  else,  nothing  else." 

Her  start  of 'attention,  her  dilating  eyes,  made  the  tears 
spring  to  his  own  eyes.  "Helena,  you  do  believe  me, 
don't  you?" 

She  could  not  answer  him;  she  had  grown  pale  and 
then  red,  then  pale  again.  "Oh,"  she  said  in  a  whisper, 
"you  are  a  good  man!  What  have  I  done  to  deserve 
such  a  friend?  But  no,  dear  friend,  no." 

He  struck  her  shoulder  heavily,  as  if  she  had  been 
another  man.  "Well,  anyway,"  he  said,  "you'll  re 
member  that  when  you  are  willing,  I  am  waiting?" 

vShe  nodded.  "I  shall  never  forget  your  goodness," 
she  said,  brokenly. 

He  did  not  try  to  detain  her  with  arguments  or  en 
treaties,  but  as  she  turned  toward  the  library  door  he 
suddenly  pushed  it  shut,  and  quietly  took  her  in  his 
arms  and  kissed  her. 

She  went  away  quite  speechless.  She  did  not  even 
remember  to  say  good-night  and  good-by  to  Miss  White, 
although  she  was  to  leave  Mercer  the  next  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

WHEN  Blair  heard  that  Mrs.  Richie  was  coming  to  stay 
with  Nannie  he  said,  briefly,  "  I  won't  come  in  while  she 
is  here."  He  wrote  to  his  sister  during  those  three  weeks 
and  sent  her  flowers — kindness  to  Nannie  was  a  habit 
with  Blair;  and  indeed  he  really  missed  seeing  her,  and 
was  glad  for  other  reasons  than  his  own  embarrassment 
when  he  heard  that  her  visitor  was  going  away.  "I 
understand  Mrs.  Richie  takes  the  7.30  to-night,"  he  said 
to  his  wife.  Elizabeth  was  silent;  it  did  not  occur  to 
her  to  mention  that  she  had  seen  Nannie  and  heard  that 
Mrs.  Richie  had  decided  to  stay  over  another  night.  She 
rarely  volunteered  any  information  to  Blair. 

"  Elizabeth,"  he  said,  "what  do  you  say  to  going  down 
to  Willis's  for  supper,  and  rowing  home  in  the  moonlight  ? 
We  can  drop  in  and  see  Nannie  on  the  way  back  to  the 
hotel — after  Mrs.  Richie  has  gone."  He  saw  some  list 
less  excuse  trembling  on  her  lips,  and  interrupted  her: 
"  Do  say  '  yes ' !  It  is  months  since  we  have  been  on  the 
river." 

She  hesitated,  then  seemed  to  reach  some  sudden  de 
cision.  "Yes,"  she  said,  "I'll  go." 

Blair's  face  lighted  with  pleasure.  Perhaps  the  silence 
which  had  hardened  between  them  since  the  day  the 
question  of  his  money  had  been  discussed  would  break 
now. 

The  late  afternoon  was  warm  with  the  yellow  haze  of 
October  sunshine  when  they  walked  out  over  the  bridge 
to  the  toll-house  wharf,  where  Blair  hired  a  boat.  He 
made  her  as  comfortable  as  he  could  in  the  stern,  and 

406 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

when  he  gave  her  the  tiller-ropes  she  took  them  in  a  busi 
ness-like  way,  as  if  really  entering  into  the  spirit  of  his 
little  expedition.  A  moment  later  they  were  floating 
down  the  river;  there  was  nearly  half  a  mile  of  fur 
naces  and  slag-banked  shore  before  they  left  Mercer's 
smoke  and  grime  behind  them  and  began  to  drift  be 
tween  low-lying  fields  or  through  narrow  reaches  where 
the  vineyard-covered  hills  came  down  close  to  the  water. 

"Elizabeth,  what  do  you  say  to  going  East  next 
month?"  Blair  said;  " perhaps  we  can  persuade  Nannie 
to  go,  too." 

She  was  leaning  back  against  the  cushions  he  had 
arranged  for  her,  holding  her  white  parasol  so  that  it  hid 
her  face.  "I  don't  see,"  she  said,  "how  you  can  afford 
to  travel  much ;  where  will  you  get  the  money  ?" 

"Oh,  it  has  all  been  very  easily  arranged;  Nannie  can 
draw  pretty  freely  against  the  estate  now,  and  she  makes 
me  an  'allowance/  so  to  speak,  until  things  are  settled; 
then  she'll  hand  my  principal  over  to  me.  It's  a  nuisance 
not  to  have  it  now;  but  we  can  get  along  well  enough." 

Then  Elizabeth  asked  her  question:  "And  when  you 
get  the  principal,  what  will  you  do  with  it?" 

"  Invest  it ;  pretty  tough,  isn't  it,  when  you  think  what 
I  ought  to  have  had?" 

"And  when,"  said  Elizabeth,  very  softly,  "will  you 
build  the  hospital  ?"  She  lifted  her  parasol  slightly,  and 
gave  him  a  look  that  was  like  a  knife;  then  lowered  it 
again. 

"  Build  the  hospital !     What  hospital  ?" 

"The  hospital  near  the  Works,  that  your  mother  put 
that  money  aside  for." 

Blair's  hands  tightened  on  his  oars.  Instinctively  he 
knew  that  a  critical  moment  was  confronting  him.  He 
did  not  know  just  what  the  danger  in  it  was,  but  he  knew 
there  was  danger.  "  My  mother  changed  her  mind  about 
that,  Elizabeth." 

She  lifted  the  parasol  again,  and  looked  full  at  him; 
407 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  white  shadow  of  the  silk  made  the  dark  amber  of  her 
unsmiling  eyes  singularly  luminous.  "No,"  she  said; 
"your  mother  did  not  change  her  mind.  Nannie  thought 
she  did,  but  it  was  not  so."  She  spoke  with  stern  cer 
tainty.  "Your  mother  didn't  mean  you  to  have  that 
money.  She  meant  it  for — a  hospital." 

Blair  stopped  rowing  and  leaned  on  his  oars.  "Why 
don't  you  speak  his  name  ?"  he  said,  between  his  teeth. 

The  parasol  fell  back  on  her  shoulder;  she  grew  very 
white ;  the  hard  line  that  used  to  be  a  dimple  was  like  a 
gash  in  her  cheek;  she  looked  suddenly  old.  "I  will 
certainly  speak  his  name :  David  Richie.  Your  mother 
meant  the  money  for  David  Richie." 

"That,"  said  Blair,  "is  a  matter  of  opinion.  You 
think  she  did.  I  think  she  didn't.  I  think  she  meant 
it  for  the  person  whose  name  she  wrote  on  the  certificate. 
That  person  will  keep  it." 

Elizabeth  was  silent.  Blair  began  to  row  again, 
softly.  The  anger  in  his  face  died  out  and  left  misery 
behind  it.  Oh,  how  she  hated  him ;  and  how  she  loved — 
him.  At  that  moment  Blair  hated  David  as  one  only 
hates  the  human  creature  one  has  injured.  They  did 
not  speak  again  for  the  rest  of  the  slow  drift  down  to 
Willis's.  Once  Blair  opened  his  lips  to  bid  her  notice 
that  the  overhanging  willows  and  chestnuts  mirrored 
themselves  so  clearly  in  the  water  that  the  skiff  seemed 
to  cut  through  autumnal  foliage,  and  the  sound  of  the 
ripple  at  the  prow  was  like  the  rustle  of  leaves;  but  the 
preoccupation  in  her  face  silenced  him.  It  was  after  four 
when,  brushing  past  a  fringe  of  willows,  the  skiff  bumped 
softly  against  a  float  half  hidden  in  the  yellowing  sedge 
and  grass  at  Willis's  landing.  Blair  got  out,  and  draw 
ing  the  boat  alongside,  held  up  his  hand  to  his  wife,  but 
she  ignored  his  assistance.  As  she  sprang  lightly  out, 
the  float  rocked  a  little  and  the  water  splashed  over  the 
planks.  There  was  a  dank  smell  of  wet  wood  and  rankly 
growing  water- weeds.  A  ray  of  sunshine,  piercing  the 

408 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

roof  of  willow  leaves,  struck  the  single  blossom  of  a 
monkey -flower,  that  sparkled  suddenly  in  the  green 
darkness  like  a  topaz. 

"  Elizabeth,"  Blair  said  in  a  low  voice — he  was  holding 
the  gunwale  of  the  boat  and  he  did  not  look  at  her; 
"Elizabeth,  all  I  want  money  for  is  to  give  you  every 
thing  you  want."  She  was  silent.  He  made  the  skiff 
fast  and  followed  her  up  the  path  to  the  little  inn  on  the 
bank.  There  were  some  tables  out  under  the  locust- 
trees,  and  a  welcoming  landlord  came  hurrying  to  meet 
them  with  suggestions  of  refreshments. 

"  What  will  you  have  ?"  Blair  asked. 

"Anything — nothing;  I  don't  care,"  Elizabeth  said; 
and  Blair  gave  an  order  he  thought  would  please  her. 

Below  them  the  river,  catching  the  sunset  light,  blos 
somed  with  a  thousand  stars.  Elizabeth  watched  the 
dancing  glitter  absently;  when  Blair,  forgetting  for  a 
moment  the  depression  of  the  last  half-hour,  said  im 
pulsively,  "Oh,  how  beautiful  that  is!"  she  nodded,  and 
came  out  of  her  abstraction  to  call  his  attention  to  the 
reflected  gold  of  a  great  chestnut  on  the  other  side  of  the 
stream. 

"  Are  you  warm  enough  ?"  he  asked.  He  said  to  him 
self,  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  that  evidently  she  had  dropped 
the  dangerous  subject  of  the  hospital.  "There  is  a  chill 
in  these  October  evenings  as  the  sun  goes  down,"  he  re 
minded  her. 

"Yes." 

"Elizabeth,"  he  burst  out,  "why  can't  we  talk  some 
times?  Haven't  we  anything  in  common?  Can't  we 
ever  talk,  like  ordinary  husbands  and  wives?  You 
would  show  more  civility  to  a  beggar!"  But  as  he 
spoke  the  waiter  pushed  his  tray  between  them,  and  she 
did  not  answer.  When  Blair  poured  out  a  glass  of  wine 
for  her  she  shook  her  head. 

"I  don't  want  anything." 

He  looked  at  her  in  despair:  "I  love  you.  I  suppose 
409 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

you  wouldn't  believe  me  if  I  should  try  to  tell  you  how  I 
love  you — and  yet  you  don't  give  me  a  decent  word  once 
a  month!" 

"Blair,"  she  said,  quietly,  "that  is  final,  is  it — about 
the  money  ?  You  are  going  to  keep  it  ?" 

"I  am  certainly  going  to  keep  it." 

Elizabeth's  eyes  narrowed.  "It  is  final,"  she  re 
peated,  slowly. 

"You  are  angry,"  he  cried,  "because  I  won't  give  the 
money  my  mother  gave  me,  all  the  money  I  have  in  the 
world,  to  the  man  whom  you  threw  off  like  an  old  glove !" 

"No,"  she  said,  slowly,  "I  don't  think  I  am  angry. 
But  it  seems  somehow  to  be  more  than  I  can  bear;  a  sort 
of  last  straw,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  smiling  faintly.  "  But 
I'm  not  angry,  I  think.  Still,  perhaps  I  am.  I  don't 
really  know." 

Blair  struck  a  match  under  the  table.  His  hand  hold 
ing  his  cigarette  trembled.  "To  the  best  of  my  knowl 
edge  and  belief,  Elizabeth,  I  am  honest.  I  believe  my 
mother  meant  me  to  have  that  money.  She  did  not 
mean  to  have  it  go  to — to  a  hospital." 

Elizabeth  dug  the  ferrule  of  her  parasol  into  the  gravel 
at  her  feet.  "It  is  David's  money.  You  took  his  wife. 
Now  you  are  taking  his  money.  .  .  .  You  can't  keep  both 
of  them."  She  said  this  very  gently,  so  gently  that  for  a 
moment  he  did  not  grasp  the  sense  of  her  words.  When 
he  did  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  did  not  herself  realize 
what  she  had  said,  for  immediately,  in  the  same  calmly 
matter-of-fact  way,  she  began  to  speak  of  unimportant 
things :  the  river  was  very  low,  wasn't  it  ?  What  a  pity 
they  were  cutting  the  trees  on  the  opposite  hill.  "  They 
are  burning  the  brush,"  she  said;  "do  you  smell  the 
smoke?  I  love  the  smell  of  burning  brush  in  October." 
She  was  simpler  and  pleasanter  than  she  had  been  for  a 
long  time.  But  he  could  not  know  that  it  was  because 
she  felt,  inarticulately,  that  her  burden  had  been  lifted; 
she  herself  could  not  have  said  why,  but  she  was  almost 

410 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

happy.  Blair  was  confused  to  the  point  of  silence  by  her 
abrupt  return  to  the  commonplace.  He  glanced  at  her 
with  furtive  anxiety.  "Oh,  see  the  moon!"  Elizabeth 
said,  and  for  a  moment  they  watched  the  great  disk  of 
the  Hunter's  moon  rising  in  the  translucent  dusk  behind 
the  hills. 

"That  purple  haze  in  the  east  is  like  the  bloom  on  a 
plum,"  Blair  said. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go  now,"  Elizabeth  said,  rising. 
But  though  she  had  seemed  so  friendly,  she  did  not  even 
turn  her  head  to  see  if  he  were  following  her,  and  he  had 
to  hurry  to  overtake  her  as  she  went  down  the  path  to 
the  half-sunken  float  that  was  rocking  slightly  in  the 
grassy  shallows.  As  he  knelt,  steadying  the  boat  with 
one  hand,  he  held  the  other  up  to  her,  and  this  time 
she  did  not  repulse  him;  but  when  she  put  her  hand 
into  his,  he  kissed  it  with  abrupt,  unhappy  passion, — and 
she  drew  it  from  him  sharply.  When  she  took  her  place 
in  the  stern  and  lifted  the  tiller-ropes  she  looked  at 
him,  gathering  up  his  oars,  with  curious  gentleness.  .  .  . 

She  was  sorry  for  him,  for  he  seemed  to  care  so  much ; 
— and  this  was  the  end!  She  had  tried  to  bear  her  life. 
Nobody  could  imagine  how  hard  she  had  tried;  life 
had  been  her  punishment,  so  with  all  her  soul  and  all  her 
body,  she  had  tried  to  bear  it!  But  this  was  the  end.  It 
was  not  possible  to  try  any  more.  "  I  have  borne  it  as 
long  as  I  can,"  she  thought.  Yet  as  she  had  said,  she  was 
not  angry.  She  wondered,  vaguely,  listening  to  the  dip  of 
the  oars,  at  this  absence  of  anger.  She  had  been  able 
to  talk  about  the  bonfires,  and  she  had  thought  the 
moon  beautiful.  No;  she  was  not  angry.  Or  if  she 
were,  then  her  anger  was  unlike  all  the  other  angers  that 
had  scourged  and  torn  the  surface  of  her  life;  they  had 
been  storms,  all  clamor  and  confusion  and  blinding 
flashes,  with  more  or  less  indifference  to  resulting  ruin. 
But  this  anger,  which  could  not  be  recognized  as  anger, 
was  a  noiseless  cataclysm  in  the  very  center  of  her  being; 

411 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

a  tidal  wave,  that  was  lifting  and  lifting,  moving  slowly, 
too  full  for  sound,  in  the  resistless  advance  of  an  ab 
sorbing  purpose  of  ruin.  "I  am  not  angry,"  she  said  to 
herself;  "but  I  think  I  am  dying." 

The  pallor  of  her  face  frightened  Blair,  who  was 
straining  at  his  oars  against  the  current:  "Elizabeth! 
What  is  the  matter  ?  Shall  I  stop  ?  Shall  we  go  ashore  ? 
You  are  ill!" 

"No;   I'm  not.     Go  on,  please." 

"But  there  is  something  the  matter!" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Don't  stop.  We've  gone  ever 
so  far  down-stream,  just  in  this  minute." 

Blair  looked  at  her  anxiously.  A  little  later  he  tried 
to  make  her  talk;  asked  her  how  she  felt,  and  called  her 
attention  to  the  bank  of  clouds  that  was  slowly  climbing 
up  the  sky.  But  she  was  silent.  As  usual,  she  seemed 
to  have  nothing  to  say  to  him.  He  rowed  steadily,  in 
long,  beautiful  strokes,  and  she  sat  watching  the  dark 
water  lap  and  glimmer  past  the  side  of  the  skiff.  As 
they  worked  up-stream,  the  sheen  of  oil  began  to  show 
again  in  faint  and  rocking  iridescence;  once  she  leaned 
over  and  touched  the  water  with  her  fingers ;  then  looked 
at  them  with  a  frown. 

"Look  out!"  Blair  said;    "trim  a  little,  will  you?" 

She  sat  up  quickly:   " I  wonder  if  it  is  easy  to  drown ?" 

"Mighty  easy — if  you  lean  too  hard  on  the  gunwale," 
he  said,  good-naturedly. 

"Does  it  take  very  long?" 

"To  drown?  I  never  tried  it,  but  I  believe  not; 
though  I  understand  that  it's  upleasant  while  it  lasts." 
He  watched  her  wistfully;  if  he  could  only  make  her 
smile ! 

"I  suppose  dying  is  generally  unpleasant,"  she  said, 
and  glanced  down  into  the  black  oily  water  with  a 
shiver. 

It  was  quite  dark  by  this  time,  and  Blair  was  keeping 
close  to  the  shore  to  avoid  the  current  narrowing  between 

412 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  piers  of  the  old  bridge.  When  they  reached  Mrs. 
Todd's  wharf  Elizabeth  was  still  staring  into  the  water. 

"  It  is  so  black  here,  so  dirty!  I  wouldn't  like  to  have 
it  touch  me.  It's  cleaner  down  at  Willis's,"  she  said, 
thoughtfully.  Blair,  making  fast  at  the  landing,  agreed : 
"Yes,  if  I  wanted  a  watery  grave  I'd  prefer  the  river  at 
Willis's  to  this."  Then  he  offered  her  a  pleading  hand; 
but  she  sat  looking  at  the  water.  "How  clean -the  ocean 
is,  compared  to  a  river,"  she  said;  then  noticed  his  hand. 
She  took  it  calmly  enough,  and  stepped  out  of  the  boat. 
She  had  forgotten,  he  thought,  her  displeasure  about  the 
money;  there  was  only  the  usual  detachment.  When 
he  said  it  was  too  early  to  go  to  Nannie's, — "it  isn't  seven 
yet,  and  Mrs.  Richie  won't  leave  the  house  until  a 
quarter  past;"  she  agreed  that  they  had  better  go  to 
the  hotel. 

"What  do  you  say  to  the  theater  to-night?"  he  asked. 
But  she  shook  her  head. 

"You  go;   I  would  rather  be  alone." 

"I  hear  there's  a  good  play  in  town?" 

She  was  silent. 

Blair  said  something  under  his  breath  with  angry 
hopelessness.  This  was  always  the  way  so  far  as  any 
personal  relation  between  them  went ;  she  did  not  seem 
to  see  him;  she  did  not  even  hear  what  he  was  saying. 
"  You  always  want  to  be  alone,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned," 
he  said.  She  made  no  answer.  After  dinner  he  took 
himself  off.  "She  doesn't  want  me  round,  so  I'll  clear 
out,"  he  said,  sullenly;  he  had  not  the  heart  even  to  go 
to  Nannie's.  "I'll  drop  into  the  theater,  or  perhaps  I'll 
just  walk,"  he  thought,  drearily.  He  wandered  out 
into  the  street,  but  the  sky  had  clouded  over  and  there 
was  a  soft  drizzle  of  rain,  so  he  turned  into  the  first  glar 
ing  entrance  that  yawned  at  him  from  the  pavement. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

WHEN  Blair  came  home,  a  little  after  eleven,  she  had 
gone. 

At  first  he  did  not  grasp  the  significance  of  her  absence. 
He  called  to  her  from  their  parlor:  "I  want  to  tell  you 
about  the  play;  perfect  trash!"  No  answer.  He 
glanced  through  the  open  door  of  her  bedroom ;  not  there. 
He  hurried  to  his  own  room,  crying :  "  Elizabeth !  Where 
are  you?"  Then  stood  blankly  waiting.  Had  she  gone 
down-stairs?  He  went  out  into  the  hall  and,  leaning 
over  the  banisters,  listened  to  the  stillness — that  un- 
human  stillness  of  a  hotel  corridor;  but  there  was  no 
bang  of  an  iron  door,  no  clanking  rumble  of  an  ascending 
elevator.  Had  she  gone  out  ?  He  looked  at  his  watch, 
and  his  heart  came  up  into  his  throat;  out — at  this  hour! 
But  perhaps  after  he  had  left  her,  she  had  suddenly 
decided  to  spend  the  night  at  her  uncle's  or  Nannie's. 
In  that  case  she  would  have  left  word  in  the  office.  He 
was  thrusting  his  arms  into  his  overcoat  and  settling 
his  hat  on  his  head,  even  while  he  was  dashing  down 
stairs  to  inquire : 

"Has  Mrs.  Maitland  left  any  message  for  me?" 

The  clerk  looked  vague:  "We  didn't  see  her  go  out, 
sir.  But  I  suppose  she  went  by  the  ladies'  entrance. 
No;  she  didn't  leave  any  message,  sir." 

Blair  suddenly  knew  that  he  was  frightened.  He  could 
not  have  said  why.  Certainly  he  was  not  conscious  of 
any  reason  for  fright;  but  some  blind  instinct  sent  a 
wave  of  alarm  all  through  him.  His  knees  felt  cold; 
there  was  a  sinking  sensation  just  below  his  breast-bone. 

414 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"What  an  ass  I  am!"  he  said  to  himself;  "she  has  gone 
to  her  uncle's,  of  course."  He  said  something  of  the 
kind,  with  elaborate  carelessness,  to  the  clerk;  "if  she 
comes  back  before  I  do,  just  say  I  have  gone  out  on  an 
errand."  He  was  frightened,  but  not  to  the  extent  of  let 
ting  that  inquisitive  idiot  behind  the  counter  know  it. 
"If  he  had  been  attending  to  his  business,"  he  thought, 
angrily,  "he  would  have  seen  her  go,  and  he  could  have 
told  me  when  it  was.  I'll  go  to  Mr.  Ferguson's.  Of 
course  she's  there." 

He  stood  on  the  curb-stone  for  a  minute,  looking  for 
a  carriage;  but  the  street  was  deserted.  He  could  not 
take  the  time  to  go  to  the  livery-stable.  He  started 
hurriedly;  once  he  broke  into  a  run,  then  checked  him 
self  with  the  reminder  that  he  was  a  fool.  As  he  drew 
near  her  uncle's  house,  he  began  to  defend  himself  against 
disappointment:  "She's  at  Nannie's.  Why  did  I  waste 
time  coming  here  ?  I  know  she  is  at  Nannie's !" 

Robert  Ferguson's  house  was  dark,  except  for  streaks 
of  light  under  the  blinds  of  the  library  windows.  Blair, 
springing  up  the  front  steps,  rang;  then  held  his  breath 
to  listen  for  some  one  coming  through  the  hall ;  his  heart 
seemed  smothering  in  his  throat.  "I  know  she  isn't 
here;  she's  at  Nannie's,"  he  told  himself.  He  was 
acutely  conscious  of  the  dank  smell  of  the  frosted  honey 
suckle  clinging  limply  to  the  old  iron  trellis  that  inclosed 
the  veranda;  but  when  the  door  opened  he  was  casual 
enough — except  for  a  slight  brcathlessness. 

"Mr.   Ferguson!    is  Elizabeth  here?" 

"No,"  Robert  Ferguson  said,  surprised,  "was  she 
coming  here?" 

"She  was  to  be  here,  or — or  at  Nannie's,"  Blair  said, 
carelessly,  "I  didn't  know  which.  I'll  go  and  get  her 
there."  His  own  words  reassured  him,  and  he  apolo 
gized  lightly.  "Sorry  to  have  disturbed  you,  sir. 
Good-night !"  And  he  was  gone  before  another  question 
could  be  asked.  But  out  in  the  street  he  found  himself 
27 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

running.  "Of  course  she's  at  Nannie's!"  he  said,  pant 
ing.  He  even  had  a  twinge  of  anger  at  Elizabeth  for 
giving  him  all  this  trouble.  "She  ought  to  have  left 
word,"  he  thought,  crossly.  It  was  a  relief  to  be  cross; 
nothing  very  serious  can  have  happened  to  a  person 
who  merely  makes  you  cross.  The  faint  drizzle  of 
the  early  evening  had  turned  to  rain,  which  added  to 
his  irritation.  "She's  all  right;  and  it's  confoundedly 
unpleasant  to  get  soaking  wet,"  he  reflected.  Yes;  he 
was  honestly  cross.  Yet  in  spite  of  the  reassurances  of 
his  mind  and  his  temper,  his  body  was  still  frightened; 
he  was  hurrying;  his  breath  came  quickly.  He  dashed 
on,  so  absorbed  in  denying  his  alarm  that  on  one  of  the 
crossings  only  a  quick  leap  kept  him  from  being  knocked 
down  by  a  carriage  full  of  revelers.  " Here,  you!  Look 
out!  What's  the  matter  with  you?"  the  cab-driver 
yelled,  pulling  his  horses  back  and  sidewise,  but  not  be 
fore  the  pole  of  the  hack  had  grazed  Blair's  shoulder. 
There  was  a  screech  of  laughter,  a  woman's  vociferating 
fright,  a  whiff  of  cigar  smoke,  and  a  good-natured  curse: 
"Say,  darn  you,  you're  too  happy  to  be  out  alone, 
sonny!"  Blair  did  not  hear  them.  Shantytown,  black 
and  silent  and  wet,  huddled  before  him;  from  the  smoke 
stacks  of  the  Works  banners  of  flame  flared  out  into  the 
rain,  and  against  them  his  mother's  house  loomed  up, 
dark  in  the  darkness.  At  the  sight  of  it  all  his  panic 
returned,  and  again  he  tried  to  discount  his  disappoint- 
ment:  "She  isn't  here,  of  course;  she  has  gone  to  the 
hotel.  Why  didn't  I  wait  for  her  there  ?  What  a  fool  I 
am!"  But  back  in  his  mind,  as  he  banged  the  iron  gate 
and  rushed  up  the  steps,  he  was  saying:  "If  she  isn't 
here—?" 

The  house  was  absolutely  dark ;  the  fan-light  over  the 
great  door  was  black;  there  was  no  faintest  glimmer  of 
light  anywhere.  Everybody  was'  asleep.  Blair  rang 
violently,  and  pounded  on  the  panels  of  the  door  with 
both  hands.  "Nannie!  Elizabeth!  Harris! — confound 

416 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  old  idiot!  why  doesn't  he  answer  the  bell? 
Nannie — " 

A  window  opened  on  the  floor  above.  "What  is 
it?"  demanded  a  quavering  feminine  voice.  "Who's 
there?" 

"  Nannie!  Darn  it,  why  doesn't  somebody  answer  the 
bell  in  this  house?  Is  Elizabeth — "  His  voice  died  in 
his  throat. 

"Oh,  Blair!  Is  that  you?  You  scared  me  to  death," 
Nannie  called  down.  '  What  on  earth  is  the  matter?" 

"Is— is  Elizabeth  here?" 

"Elizabeth?     No;   of  course  not!     Where  is  she?" 

"  If  I  knew,  would  I  be  asking  you  ?"  Blair  called  back 
furiously;  " she  must  be  here !" 

"Wait.  I'll  come  down  and  let  you  in,"  Nannie  said; 
he  heard  a  muffled  colloquy  back  in  the  room,  and 
then  the  window  closed  sharply.  Far  off,  a  church 
clock  struck  one.  Blair  stood  with  a  hand  on  the  door 
knob;  through  the  leaded  side-windows  he  saw  a  light 
wavering  down  through  the  house;  a  moment  later 
Nannie,  lamp  in  hand,  shivering  in  her  thin  dressing- 
gown,  opened  the  door. 

"Has  she  been  here  this  evening?" 

' '  Blair !  You  scare  me  to  death !  No ;  she  hasn 't  been 
here.  What  is  the  matter?  Your  coat  is  all  wet!  Is 
it  raining?" 

"She  isn't  at  the  hotel,  and  I  don't  know  where  she 
is." 

"Why,  she's  at  Mr.  Ferguson's,  of  course!" 

"  No,  she  isn't.     I've  been  there." 

"She  may  be  at  home  by  this  time,"  Nannie  faltered, 
and  Blair,  assenting,  was  just  turning  to  rush  away,  when 
another  voice  said,  with  calm  peremptoriness : 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

Blair  turned  to  see  Mrs.  Richie.  She  had  come  quietly 
down-stairs,  and  was  standing  beside  Nannie.  Even  in 
his  scared  preoccupation,  the  sight  of  David's  mother 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

shook  him.  "I — I  thought,"  he  stammered,  "that  you 
had  gone  home,  Mrs.  Richie." 

"She  had  a  little  cold,  and  I  would  not  let  her  go 
until  to-morrow  morning,"  Nannie  said;  "you  always 
take  more  cold  on  those  horrid  sleeping-cars."  Nannie 
had  no  consciousness  of  the  situation;  she  was  far  too 
alarmed  to  be  embarrassed.  Blair  cringed;  he  was  scar 
let  to  his  temples;  yet  under  his  shame,  he  had  the 
feeling  that  he  had  when,  a  little  boy,  he  clung  to  David's 
pretty  mother  for  protection. 

"Oh,  Mrs.  Richie,"  he  said,  "I  am  so  worried  about 
Elizabeth!" 

"What  about  her?" 

' '  She  said  something  this  afternoon  that  frightened  me . ' ' 

"What?" 

But  he  would  not  tell  her.  "It  was  nothing.  Only 
she  was  very  angry ;  and — she  will  do  anything  when  she 
is  angry."  Mrs.  Richie  gave  him  a  look,  but  he  was  too 
absorbed  to  feel  its  significance.  "It  was  something 
about — well,  a  sort  of  silly  threat.  I  didn't  take  it  in  at 
the  time;  but  afterward  I  thought  perhaps  she  meant 
something.  Really,  it  was  nothing  at  all.  But — "  his 
voice  died  in  his  throat  and  his  eyes  were  terrified. 
There  was  such  pain  in  his  face  that  before  she  knew  it 
David's  mother  was  sorry  for  him;  she  even  put  her 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  It  was  just  a  mood,"  she  comforted  him.  And  Blair, 
taking  the  white,  maternal  hand  in  both  of  his,  looked  at 
her  speechlessly;  his  chift  trembled.  Instantly,  without 
words  of  shame  on  one  side  or  of  forgiveness  on  the  other, 
they  were  back  again,  these  two,  in  the  old  friendship 
of  youth  and  middle  age.  "It  was  a  freak,"  said  Mrs. 
Richie,  soothingly.  "She  is  probably  at  the  hotel  by 
this  time.  Don't  be  troubled,  Blair.  Go  and  see.  If 
she  isn't  at  the  hotel  let  me  kn'ow  at  once." 

"Yes,  yes;  I  will,"  Blair  said.  "She  must  be  there 
now,  of  course.  I  know  there's  nothing  the  matter,  but 

418 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

I  don't  like  to  have  her  out  so  late  by  herself."  He 
turned  to  open  the  front  door,  fumbling  with  haste  over 
the  latch;  Nannie  called  to  him  to  wait  and  she  would 
get  him  an  umbrella.  But  he  did  not  hear  her.  He  was 
saying  to  himself  that  of  course  she  was  at  the  hotel ;  and 
he  was  off  again  into  the  darkness ! 

As  the  door  banged  behind  him  the  two  women  looked 
at  each  other  in  dismay.  "Oh,  Mrs.  Richie,  what  can  be 
the  matter?"  Nannie  said. 

"Just  one  of  Elizabeth's  moods.  She  has  gone  out  to 
walk." 

"  At  this  time  of  night  ?     It's  after  one  o'clock !" 

"She  is  probably  safe  and  sound  at  the  River  House 
now." 

"I  wish  we  had  one  of  those  new  telephone  things," 
Nannie  said.  "Mamma  was  always  talking  about 
getting  one.  Then  Blair  could  let  us  know  as  soon  as  he 
gets  to  the  hotel."  Nannie  was  plainly  scared;  Mrs. 
Richie  grave  and  a  little  cold.  She  had  had,  to  her 
amazement,  a  wave  of  tenderness  for  Blair;  the  reaction 
from  it  came  in  anger  at  Elizabeth.  Elizabeth  was  al 
ways  making  trouble!  "Poor  Blair,"  she  said,  involun 
tarily.  At  the  moment  she  was  keenly  sorry  for  him; 
after  all,  abominable  as  his  conduct  had  been,  love,  of  a 
kind,  had  been  at  the  root  of  it.  "I  can  forgive  love," 
Helena  Richie  said  to  herself,  "but  not  hate.  Elizabeth 
never  loved  David  or  she  couldn't  have  done  what  she 
did.  .  .  .  Nothing  will  happen  to  her,"  she  said  aloud.  It 
occurred  to  this  gentle  woman  that  nothing  ever  did 
happen  to  the  people  one  felt  could  be  spared  from  this 
world;  which  wicked  thought  made  her  so  shocked  at 
herself  that  she  hardly  heard  Nannie's  nervous  chatter: 
"  If  she  hasn't  come  home,  Blair  will  be  back  here  in  half 
an  hour;  it  takes  fifteen  minutes  to  go  to  the  hotel  and 
fifteen  minutes  to  come  back.  If  he  isn't  here  at  a 
quarter  to  two,  everything  is  all  right." 

They  went  into  the  parlor  and  lit  the  gas;  Nannie 
419 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

suggested  a  fire,  but  Mrs.  Richie  said  it  wasn't  worth 
while.  "We'll  be  going  up-stairs  in  a  few  minutes,"  she 
said.  She  was  not  really  worried  about  Elizabeth; 
partly  because  of  that  faintly  cynical  belief  that  nothing 
could  happen  to  the  poor  young  creature  who  had  made 
so  much  trouble  for  everybody;  but  also  because  she  was 
singularly  self-absorbed.  Those  words  of  Robert  Fer 
guson's,  when  he  kissed  her  in  his  library,  had  never  left 
her  mind.  She  thought  of  them  now  when  she  and 
Nannie  sat  down  in  that  silence  of  waiting  which  seems 
to  tingle  with  speech.  The  dim  light  from  the  gas-jet  by 
the  mantelpiece  did  not  penetrate  beyond  the  dividing 
arch  of  the  great  room ;  behind  the  grand  piano  sprawl 
ing  sidewise  between  the  black  marble  columns,  all  was 
dark.  The  shadow  of  the  chandelier,  muffled  in  its 
balloon  of  brown  paper  muslin,  made  an  island  of  dark 
ness  on  the  ceiling,  and  the  four  big  canvases  were  four 
black  oblongs  outlined  in  faintly  glimmering  gilt. 

"  I  remember  sitting  here  with  your  mother,  the  night 
you  children  were  lost,"  Mrs.  Richie  said.  "Oh,  Nannie 
dear,  you  must  move  out  of  this  house ;  it  is  too  gloomy !" 
But  Nannie  was  not  thinking  of  the  house. 

"  Where  can  she  have  gone  ?"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Richie  could  offer  no  suggestion.  Her  explana 
tion  to  herself  was  that  Blair  and  Elizabeth  had  quar 
reled,  and  Elizabeth,  in  a  paroxysm  of  temper,  had 
rushed  off  to  spend  the  night  in  some  hotel  by  herself. 
But  she  did  not  want  to  say  this  to  Nannie.  To  herself 
she  said  that  things  did  sometimes  turn  out  for  the  best 
in  this  world,  after  all — if  only  David  could  realize  it! 
"She  would  have  made  him  dreadfully  unhappy,"  Hel 
ena  Richie  thought;  "she  doesn't  know  what  love 
means."  But  alas!  David  did  not  know  that  he  had 
had  an  escape.  She  sighed,  remembering  that  talk  on 
the  beach,  and  those  wicked  things  he  had  said, — things 
for  which  she  must  be  in  some  way  to  blame.  "If  he 
had  had  a  different  mother,"  she  thought,  heavily,  "he 

420 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

might  not  have — "  A  sudden  shock  of  terror  jarred  all 
through  her — could  Elizabeth  have  gone  to  David?  The 
very  thought  turned  her  cold;  it  was  as  if  some  slimy, 
poisonous  thing  had  touched  her.  Then  common  sense 
came  in  a  wave  of  relief :  " Of  course  not!  Why  should 
she  do  such  an  absurd  thing?"  But  in  spite  of  common 
sense,  Helena  Richie's  lips  went  dry. 

"It's  a  quarter  to  two,"  Nannie  said.  "He  hasn't 
come;  she  must  be  at  the  hotel." 

"I'm  sure  she  is,"  Mrs.  Richie  agreed. 

"Let's  wait  five  minutes,"  Nannie  said;  "but  I'm 
certain  it's  all  right." 

"Of  course  it's  all  right,"  Mrs.  Richie  said  again,  and 
got  on  her  feet  with  a  shiver  of  relief. 

"It  gave  me  a  terrible  scare,"  Nannie  confessed,  and 
turned  out  the  gas.  "I  had  a  perfectly  awful  thought, 
Mrs.  Richie;  a  wicked  thought.  I  was  afraid  she  had — 
had  done  something  to  herself.  You  know  she  is  so 
crazy  when  she  is  angry,  and — " 

The  front  gate  banged.  Nannie  gave  a  faint  scream. 
"Oh,  Mrs.  Richie!  Oh—" 

It  was  Helena  Richie  who  opened  the  door  before 
Blair  had  even  reached  it.  "Well?  Well?" 

"Not  there. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

ALL  night  long  Elizabeth  watched  a  phantom  land 
scape  flit  past  the  window  of  the  sleeping-car.  Some 
times  a  cloud  of  smoke,  shot  through  with  sparks, 
brushed  the  glass  like  a  billowing  curtain,  and  sometimes 
the  thunderous  darkness  of  a  tunnel  swept  between  her 
and  spectral  trees  or  looming  hilltops.  She  lay  there  on 
her  pillows,  looking  at  the  flying  glimmer  of  the  night  and 
drawing  long  breaths  of  peace.  The  steady,  rhythmical 
pounding  of  the  wheels,  the  dull,  rushing  roar  of  the  rails, 
the  black,  spinning  country  outside  her  window,  shut 
away  her  old  world  of  miseries  and  shames.  Behind  the 
stiff  green  curtains,  that  swung  in  and  out,  in  and  out, 
to  the  long  roll  of  the  car,  there  were  no  distractions,  no 
fears  of  interruption,  no  listening  apprehensions;  she 
could  relax  into  the  wordless  and  exultant  certainty  of 
her  purpose. 

For  at  last,  after  these  long  months  of  mere  endurance, 
she  had  a  purpose. 

And  how  calmly  she  was  fulfilling  it!  "For  I  am  not 
angry,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  the  same  surprise  she 
had  felt  when,  at  Willis's  that  afternoon,  she  had  denied 
Blair's  charge  of  anger.  Outside  in  the  darkness,  all  the 
world  was  asleep.  The  level  stretches  of  vanishing  fields, 
the  faint  glisten  of  roads,  were  empty.  When  the  train 
swept  thundering  through  little  towns,  the  flying  station 
lights,  the  twinkle  of  street  lamps,  even  the  solitary 
lanterns  of  switchmen  running  along  the  tracks,  made 
the  sleep  seem  only  more  profound.  But  Elizabeth  was 
awake  in  every  fiber;  once  or  twice,  for  the  peace  of  it, 

422 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

she  closed  her  eyes;  but  she  did  not  mean  to  sleep.  She 
meant  to  think  out  every  step  that  she  must  take;  but 
just  at  first,  in  the  content  of  decision,  she  did  not  even 
want  to  think.  She  only  wanted  to  feel  that  the  end 
had  come. 

It  was  during  the  row  up  the  river  that  her  purpose  had 
cleared  before  her  eyes ;  for  an  instant  the  sight  of  it  had 
startled  her  into  that  pallor  which  had  frightened  Blair ; 
then  she  accepted  it  with  a  passionate  satisfaction.  It 
needed  no  argument  ;  she  knew  without  reasoning  about 
it  what  she  must  do.  But  the  way  to  do  it  was  not  plain ; 
it  was  while  she  and  Blair  sat  at  dinner,  and  he  read  his 
paper  and  she  played  with  her  food,  that  a  plan  grew 
slowly  in  her  mind.  The  carrying  it  out — at  least  to  this 
point ;  the  alert  and  trembling  fear  of  some  obstacle,  had 
greatly  exhausted  her.  It  had  also  blotted  out  every 
thing  but  itself.  She  forgot  her  uncle  and  Miss  White; 
that  she  was  going  to  give  them  pain  did  not  occur  to  her 
until  safe  from  their  possible  interference,  in  the  dark, 
behind  the  slowly  swaying  curtains  of  her  section,  her 
fatigue  began  to  lessen.  Then,  vaguely,  she  thought  of 
them.  .  .  .  they  would  be  sorry.  She  frowned,  faintly 
troubled  by  their  sorrow.  It  was  midnight  before  she 
remembered  Blair:  poor  Blair!  he  cared  so  much  about 
her.  How  could  he, — when  she  did  not  care  for  him? 
Still,  it  did  not  follow  that  not  being  loved  prevented 
you  from  loving.  David  had  ceased  to  love  her,  but  that 
had  not  made  her  love  cease.  Yes;  she  was  afraid  they 
would  all  be  unhappy;  but  it  would  be  only  for  a  while. 
She  sighed;  it  was  a  peaceful  sigh.  Her  regret  for  the 
sorrow  that  she  would  cause  was  the  regret  of  one  far  off, 
helpless  to  avert  the  pain,  who  has  no  relation  to  it  ex 
cept  that  of  an  observer.  She  said  to  herself,  calmly, 
"Poor  Uncle  Robert." 

As  she  grew  more  rested,  the  vagueness  of  her  regret 
sharpened  a  little.  She  realized  with  a  pang  how  worried 
they  would  be — before  they  began  to  be  sorry;  and 

423 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

worry  is  so  hard  to  bear!  "I  wish  I  could  have  spared 
Uncle  Robert  and  Cherry-pie,"  she  said,  in  real  distress. 
It  occurred  to  her  that  she  had  given  them  many  un 
happy  moments.  "  I  was  always  a  trouble;  what  a  pity 
I  was  ever  born."  She  thought  suddenly  of  her  mother, 
remembering  how  she  used  to  excuse  her  temper  on  the 
ground  that  her  mother  had  had  no  self-control.  She 
smiled  faintly  in  the  darkness  at  the  childishness  of  such 
an  excuse.  "She  wasn't  to  blame.  I  could  have  con 
quered  it,  but  I  didn't.  I  did  nothing  all  my  life  but 
make  trouble,"  She  thought  of  her  life  as  a  thing  of  the 
past.  "  I  was  a  great  trial  to  them;  it  will  be  better  for 
everybody  this  way,"  she  said;  and  nestled  down  into 
the  thought  of  the  "way,"  with  a  satisfaction  which 
was  absolute  comfort.  Better;  but  still  better  if  she 
had  never  lived.  Then  Blair  would  not  have  been  disin 
herited,  and  by  being  disinherited  driven  into  the  dis 
honor  of  keeping  money  not  intended  for  him.  "It's 
really  all  my  fault,"  she  reflected,  and  looked  out  of  the 
window  with  unseeing  eyes.  Yes;  all  that  had  hap 
pened  was  her  fault.  Oh,  how  many  things  she  had  hurt 
and  spoiled !  She  had  injured  Blair ;  his  mother  had  said 
so.  And  poor  Nannie!  for  Nannie's  offense  grew  out  of 
Elizabeth's  conduct.  As  for  David— David,  who  had 
stopped  loving  her.  .  .  . 

Well,  she  wouldn't  hurt  people  any  more,  now.  Never 
any  more. 

Just  then  the  train  jarred  slowly  to  a  standstill  in  a 
vast  train-shed;  up  under  its  glass  and  girders,  arc- 
lamps  sent  lurching  shadows  through  the  smoke  and 
touched  the  clouds  of  steam  with  violet  gleams.  Eliza 
beth  could  see  dark,  gnome-like  creatures,  each  with  a 
hammer,  and  with  a  lantern  swinging  from  a  bent  elbow, 
crouching  along  by  the  cars  and  tapping  every  wheel. 
She  counted  the  blows  that  tested  the  trucks  for  the 
climb  up  the  mountains:  click-click;  click-click.  She 
was  glad  they  were  testing  them ;  she  must  get  across  the 

424 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

mountains  safely ;  there  must  be  no  interference  or  delay; 
she  had  so  little  time!  For  by  morning  they  would 
guess,  those  three  worried  people — who  had  not  yet  be 
gun  to  be  sorry — they  would  guess  what  she  had  done,  and 
they  would  follow  her.  She  saw  the  gnomes  slouching 
back  past  the  cars,  upright  this  time;  then  she  felt  the 
enormous  tug  of  the  engine  beginning  the  up-grade.  It 
grew  colder,  and  she  was  glad  of  the  blankets  which  she 
had  not  liked  to  touch  when  she  first  lay  down  in  her 
berth.  Outside  there  was  a  faint  whitening  along  the 
horizon;  but  it  dimmed,  and  the  black  outlines  of  the 
mountains  were  lost,  as  if  the  retreating  night  hesitated 
and  returned ;  then  she  saw  that  her  window  was  touched 
here  and  there  by  slender  javelins  of  rain.  They  came 
faster  and  faster,  striking  on  and  over  one  another;  now 
they  turned  to  drops;  she  stopped  thinking,  absorbed 
in  watching  a  drop  roll  down  the  glass — pause,  lurch 
forward,  touch  another  drop;  then  a  third;  then  zigzag 
rapidly  down  the  pane.  She  found  herself  following  the 
racing  drops  with  fascinated  eyes;  she  even  speculated 
as  to  which  would  reach  the  bottom  first;  she  had  a 
sense  of  luxury  in  being  able,  in  the  fortress  of  her  berth, 
to  think  of  such  things  as  racing  raindrops.  By  the  time 
it  was  light  enough  to  distinguish  the  stretching  fields 
again,  it  was  raining  hard.  Once  in  a  while  the  train 
rushed  past  a  farm-house,  where  the  smoke  from  the 
chimney  sagged  in  the  gray  air  until  it  lay  like  a  rope  of 
mist  along  the  roof.  It  was  so  light  now  that  she  could 
see  the  sodden  carpet  of  yellow  leaves  under  the  maples, 
and  she  noticed  that  the  crimson  pennons  of  the  sumacs 
drooped  and  dripped  and  clung  together.  The  monot 
onous  clatter  of  the  wheels  had  fallen  into  a  rhythm, 
which  pounded  out  steadily  and  endlessly  certain  words 
which  were  the  refrain  of  her  purpose:  "Afterward,  they 
will  say  I  had  the  right  to  see  him."  Sometimes  she  re 
minded  herself,  meekly,  that  he  no  longer  loved  her. 
But  there  was  no  trace  of  resentment  in  her  mind;  how 

425 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

could  he  love  her?  Nor  did  the  fact  that  his  love  had 
ceased  make  any  difference  in  her  purpose :  "  Afterward, 
they  will  say  I  had  the  right  to  see  him." 

When  the  day  broke — a  bleary,  gray  day,  cold,  and 
with  sweeping  showers  of  rain,  she  slept  for  a  little  while ; 
but  wakened  with  a  start,  for  the  train  was  still.  Had 
they  arrived  ?  Had  she  lost  a  moment  ?  Then  she 
recognized  the  locality,  and  knew  that  there  was  an  hour 
yet  before  she  could  be  in  the  same  city  with  him;  and 
again  the  wheels  began  their  clamorous  assertion:  "the 
right  to  see  him;  the  right  to  see  him." 

Her  plan  was  simple  enough ;  she  would  go  at  once  to 
Mrs.  Richie's  house  and  ask  for  the  doctor.  "  I  won't 
detain  him  very  long;  it  will  only  take  a  little  while  to 
tell  him,"  she  said  to  herself.  It  came  over  her  with  the 
shivering  sense  of  danger  escaped,  that  in  another  day 
she  would  have  been  too  late,  his  mother  would  be  at 
home!  "She  wouldn't  let  him  see  me,"  she  thought, 
fearfully.  Afterward,  after  she  had  seen  him,  she  would 
take  a  train  to  New  York  and  cross  the  ferry.  ..."  The 
water  is  pretty  clean  there,"  she  thought. 

She  was  dressed  and  ready  to  leave  the  train  long 
before  the  station  was  reached.  When  the  unkempt, 
haggard  crowd  swarmed  off  the  cars  and  poured  its 
jostling,  hurrying  length  through  the  train-shed  dim 
with  puffing  clouds  of  steam  and  clamorous  with  engines, 
Elizabeth  was  as  fresh  as  if  she  had  just  come  from  her 
own  house.  She  looked  at  herself  in  one  of  the  big 
mirrors  of  the  station  dressing-room  with  entire  satisfac 
tion.  "  I  am  a  little  pretty  even  yet, "she  told  herself,  can 
didly.  She  wanted  very  much  to  be  pretty  now.  When 
she  went  out  to  the  street  and  found  it  raining  in  a  steady, 
gray  downpour,  her  heart  sank, — oh,  she  must  not  get 
wet  and  draggled,  now!  Just  for  this  hour  she  must  be 
the  old  Elizabeth,  the  Elizabeth  that  he  used  to  love, 
fresh,  with  starry  eyes  and  a  shell-like  color  in  her  cheeks ! 
— and  indeed  the  cold  rain  was  making  her  face  glow  like 

426 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

a  rose;  but  her  eyes  were  solemn,  not  starry .  As  her 
cab  jolted  along  the  rainy  streets,  past  the  red-brick 
houses  with  their  white  shutters  and  scoured  door-steps — 
houses  were  people  were  eating  their  breakfasts  and 
reading  their  morning  papers — Elizabeth,  sitting  on  the 
frayed  seat  of  the  old  hack,  looked  out  of  the  window 
and  thought  how  strange  it  all  was!  It  would  be  just 
like  this  to-morrow  morning,  and  she  would  not  know 
it.  " How  queer!"  she  said  to  herself.  But  she  was  not 
frightened.  "I  suppose  at  the  last  minute  I  shall  be 
frightened,"  she  reflected.  Then,  for  a  moment,  she 
forgot  David  and  tried  to  realize  the  unrealizable :  "  every 
thing  will  be  going  on  just  the  same,  and  / — "  She 
could  not  realize  it,  but  she  did  not  doubt  it.  When  the 
cab  drew  up  at  Mrs.  Richie's  door,  she  was  careful  to  pay 
the  man  before  she  got  out  so  that  her  hat  should  not  be 
spoiled  by  the  rain  when  David  saw  it. 

"  He  isn't  in,  miss,"  the  maid  told  her  in  answer  to  her 
ring. 

Elizabeth  gasped.  "What!  Not  here?  Where  is 
he?" 

"  He  went  down  to  the  beach,  'm,  yesterday,  to  see  to 
the  closing-up  of  the  cottage,  'm." 

"When  is  he  coming  back?"  she  said,  faintly;  and  the 
woman  said,  smiling,  "To-morrow,  'm." 

Elizabeth  stood  blankly  on  the  door-step.  To-mor 
row  ?  There  was  not  going  to  be  any  to-morrow !  What 
should  she  do?  Her  plan  had  been  so  definite  and  de 
tailed  that  this  interruption  of  his  absence — a  possibility 
which  had  not  entered  into  her  calculations — threw  her 
into  absolute  confusion.  He  was  away  from  home! 
What  could  she  do? 

Entirely  forgetting  the  rain,  she  turned  away  and 
walked  aimlessly  down  the  street.  "They'll  know  I've 
come  here,  and  they'll  find  me  before  I  can  see  him!"  she 
said  to  herself, in  terror.  "I  must  go  somewhere  and  decide 
what  to  do."  She  went  into  the  nearest  hotel  and  took 

427 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

a  room.  "I  must  plan;  if  I  wait  until  he  comes  back, 
they'll  find  me !"  But  it  was  an  hour  before  her  plan  was 
made;  when  it  was,  she  sprang  up  with  the  old,  tumultu 
ous  joyousness.  Why,  of  course!  How  stupid  not  to 
have  thought  of  it  at  once !  She  was  so  entirely  oblivious 
of  everything  but  her  own  purpose  that  she  would  have 
gone  out  of  the  hotel  on  the  moment,  had  not  the  clerk 
checked  her  with  some  murmur  about  "a  little  charge." 
Elizabeth  blushed  to  her  temples.  "Oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon!"  she  said.  In  her  mortification  she  wished  that 
the  bill  had  been  twice  as  large.  But  when  she  was  out 
in  the  rain,  hurrying  to  the  station,  again  she  forgot 
everything  except  her  consuming  purpose.  In  the  wait 
ing-room — there  were  four  hours  before  the  train  started 
— the  panic  thought  took  possession  of  her  that  she  might 
miss  him  if  she  went  down  to  the  beach.  "  It's  raining, 
and  he  may  not  stay  over  until  to-morrow;  he  may  be 
coming  up  this  afternoon.  But  if  I  stay  here  they'll 
come  and  find  me !"  She  could  not  face  this  last  alterna 
tive.  "They'll  find  me,  and  I  won't  be  able  to  tell  him; 
they'll  take  me  home,  and  he  will  not  have  been  told!" 
Sitting  on  the  wooden  settee  in  the  ladies'  waiting-room, 
she  watched  the  clock  until  its  gaunt  white  face  blurred 
before  her  eyes.  How  the  long  hand  crawled !  Once,  in 
a  spasm  of  fright,  she  thought  that  it  had  stopped,  and 
perhaps  she  had  lost  her  train ! 

But  at  last  the  moment  came;  she  started, — and  as  she 
drew  nearer  and  nearer  her  goal,  her  whole  body  strained 
forward,  as  a  man  dying  of  thirst  strains  toward  a  spring 
gleaming  in  the  desert  distance;  once  she  sighed  with 
that  anticipation  of  relief  that  is  a  shiver.  Again  the 
monotonous  clatter  of  the  wheels  beat  out  the  words 
that  all  night  long  over  the  mountains  had  grooved 
themselves  into  her  brain:  "Afterward,  they  will  say 
I  had  the  right  to  see  him."  Love,  which  that  one  mad 
hour,  nearly  three  years  before,  had  numbed  and  par 
alyzed,  was  awakening.  It  was  as  if  a  slowly  rising  tor- 

428 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

rent,  dammed  by  some  immovable  barrier,  had  at  last 
reached  the  brim, — trembled,  hesitated:  then  leaped  in 
foaming  overflow  into  its  old  course!  She  thought  of 
all  the  things  she  was  going  to  tell  him  (but  oh,  they 
were  so  many,  so  many;  how  could  she  say  them  all?). 
"'I  never  was  so  true  as  when  I  was  false.  I  never  loved 
you  so  much  as  when  I  hated  you.  I  never  longed  for 
your  arms  as  I  did  when — '  O  God,  give  me  time  to 
tell  him  that!  Don't  let  them  find  me  before  I  can  tell 
him  that.  Don't  let  him  have  gone  back.  God,  please, 
please  let  me  find  him  at  the  cottage  so  I  can  tell  him." 
She  was  sitting  on  the  plush  cushion  of  the  jolting,  sway 
ing  old  car,  her  hand  on  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front  of 
her,  every  muscle  tense  with  readiness  to  spring  to  her 
feet  the  moment  the  train  stopped. 

It  was  still  raining  when  she  got  off  at  the  little  station 
which  had  sprung  up  out  of  the  sand  to  accommodate  a 
summer  population.  It  was  deserted  now,  and  the 
windows  were  boarded  over.  A  passer-by,  under  a  drip 
ping  umbrella,  lounged  along  the  platform  and  stopped 
to  look  at  her.  "Come  down  to  see  cottages?"  he  in 
quired.  She  said  no;  but  could  she  get  a  carriage  to 
take  her  over  to  Little  Beach  ? 

He  shook  his  head  sympathetically.  "A  hack? 
Here?  Lord,  no!  There  isn't  no  depot  carriage  running 
at  this  time  of  year.  You'd  ought  to  have  got  off  at 
Normans,  the  station  above  this,  and  then  you  could 
have  drove  over;  fourteen  miles,  though.  Something 
of  a  drive  on  an  evening  like  this!  But  Normans  is  quite 
a  place.  They  run  two  depot  carriages  there  all  winter 
and  a*  dozen  in  summer." 

"I'll  walk,"  she  told  him,  briefly. 
"It's  more  'an  three  miles,"  he  warned  her;   "and  its 
sheeting  down!     If  I  had  such  a  thing  as  an  umbrella, 
except  this  one,  I'd— 
But  she  had  gone.     She  knew  the  way;    she  remem 
bered  the  summer — oh,   so  long  ago! — when  she  and 

429 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Nannie  had  driven  over  that  sandy  road  along  the  beach, 
on  their  way  to  Mrs.  Richie's  house.  It  was  so  deep 
with  mud  now  that  sometimes  she  had  to  walk  outside 
the  wheel-ruts  into  the  wiry  beach-grass.  The  road 
toiled  among  the  dunes;  on  the  shore  on  her  right  she 
could  hear  the  creaming  lap  of  the  waves;  but  rain  was 
driving  in  from  the  sea  in  an  impenetrable  curtain,  and 
only  when  in  some  turn  of  the  wind  it  lifted  and  shifted 
could  she  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  scarf  of  foam  lying  on 
the  sands,  or  see  the  gray  heave  of  an  endless  expanse 
that  might  be  water  or  might  be  sky  folded  down  into  the 
water.  It  was  growing  dark;  sometimes  she  blundered 
from  the  road  to  one  side  or  the  other;  sometimes  she 
thought  she  saw  approaching  figures — a  man,  perhaps, 
or  a  vehicle;  but  as  she  neared  them  they  were  only 
bushes  or  leaning,  wind-beaten  pines.  She  was  drenched 
and  her  clothes  seemed  intolerably  heavy.  Oh,  how 
David  would  laugh  at  her  hat !  She  put  up  her  hand,  in 
its  soaked  and  slippery  glove,  and  touched  the  roses 
about  the  crown  and  laughed  herself.  "He  won't  mind," 
she  said,  contentedly.  She  had  forgotten  that  he  had 
stopped  loving  her.  She  began  to  sing  under  her  breath 
the  old  tune  of  her  gay,  inconsequent  girlhood — 

"  Oh,  won't  it  be  joyful,  joyful,  joyful, 
Oh,  won't  it  be  joyful,  to  meet  ..." 

She  stopped;  something  warm  was  on  her  face;  she  had 
not  known  that  she  was  weeping.  Suddenly,  far  off,  she 
saw  a  glimmer  of  light.  .  .  .  Mrs.  Richie's  house!  Her 
heart  rose  in  her  throat.  "David,"  she  said  aloud, 
weakly,  "David,  I'm  coming  just  as  fast  as  I  can." 

But  when  she  opened  the  door  of  the  living-room  in 
the  little  house  that  sat  so  close  to  the  crumpling  lap 
and  crash  of  the  tide,  and  saw  him,  his  pipe  in  his  hand, 
half  rising  from  his  chair  by  the  fire  and  turning  around 
to  see  who  had  entered,  she  could  hardly  speak  his  name 
—"David." 

43° 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

"...  AND  that  was  Thursday;  your  letter  had  come 
in  the  first  mail;  and — oh,  hush,  hush;  it  was  not  a  wicked 
letter,  David.  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that,  now? 
I  knew  it — the  next  day.  And  I  read  it.  I  don't  know 
just  what  happened  then.  I  can't  remember  very 
clearly.  I  think  I  felt  'insulted.'  ...  It  sounds  so 
foolish  to  say  that,  doesn't  it?  But  I  was  just  a  girl 
then,  and  you  know  what  girls  are  like.  .  .  .  David,  I 
am  not  making  any  excuse.  There  isn't  any  excuse.  I 
am  just — telling  you.  I  have  to  talk  slowly;  I  am  tired. 
You  won't  mind  if  I  talk  slowly?  ...  I  suppose  I 
thought  I  had  been  'insulted';  and  I  remember  some 
thing  seemed  to  flame  up.  You  know  how  it  always  was 
with  me?  David,  I  have  never  been  able  to  be  angry 
since  that  day.  Isn't  that  strange?  I've  never  been 
angry  since.  Well,  then,  I  went  out  to  walk.  I  re 
member  Cherry-pie  called  down-stairs  to  know  if  I  had 
a  clean  pocket-handkerchief.  I  remember  that;  and 
yet  I  can't  seem  to  remember  why  I  went  out  to  walk. 
.  .  .  And  he  came  up  and  spoke  to  me.  Oh,  I  forgot 
to  tell  you :  he'd  been  in  love  with  me.  I  meant  to  tell 
you  about  that  as  soon  as  we  were  married.  .  .  .  Where 
was  I? — Oh,  yes;  he  spoke  to  me.  .  .  ." 

Her  voice  broke  with  exhaustion;  she  closed  her  eyes 
and  lay  back  in  the  big  chair.  David  put  her  hand 
against  his  face,  and  held  it  there  until  she  opened  her 
eyes.  She  looked  at  him  dumbly  for  a  little  while;  then 
the  slow,  monotonous  outpouring  of  all  the  silent  months 
began  again:  "And  I  said  I  hated  you.  And  he  said  if 
28  43i 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

I  married  him,  it  would  show  you  that  I  hated  you. 
David,  he  was  fond  of  me.  I  have  to  remember  that. 
It  wouldn't  be  fair  not  to  remember  that,  would  it?  I 
was  really  the  one  to  blame.  Oh,  I  must  be  fair  to  him; 
he  was  fond  of  me.  .  .  .  And  all  that  afternoon,  after 
he  married  me,  I  was  so  glad  to  think  how  wicked  I  was. 
I  knew  how  you  wrould  suffer.  And  that  made  me  glad 
to  be  wicked.  ..." 

There  was  a  long  pause ;  he  pulled  a  little  shawl  across 
her  feet,  and  laid  her  hand  over  his  eyes;  but  he  was 
silent. 

"Then,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,  "I  died,  I  think.  I 
suppose  that  is  why  I  have  never  been  angry  since. 
Something  was  killed  in  me.  .  .  .  I've  wondered  a  good 
deal  about  that.  David,  isn't  it  strange  how  part  of  you 
can  die,  and  yet  you  can  go  on  living  ?  Of  course  I  ex 
pected  to  die.  I  prayed  all  the  time  that  I  might.  But 
I  went  on  living; — you  are  glad  I  lived?"  she  said,  in 
credulously,  catching  some  broken  murmur  from  behind 
his  hands  in  which  his  face  was  hidden;  "glad?  Why, 
I  should  have  thought —  Well,  that  was  the  most 
awful  time  of  all.  The  only  peace  I  had,  just  single  min 
utes  of  peace,  was  when  I  remembered  that  you  hated 
me." 

He  laid  his  face  against  her  knee,  and  she  felt  the  fierce 
intake  of  his  breath. 

"You  didn't  hate  me?  Oh,  don't  say  you  didn't, 
David.  Don't!  It  was  the  only  comfort  I  had,  to  have 
you  despise  me.  Although  that  was  just  at  first.  After 
ward,  last  May,  when  you  walked  down  to  Nannie's  with 
me  that  afternoon,  and  I  thought  you  had  got  all  over 
it,  I  ...  something  seemed  to  be  eating  my  heart  away. 
That  seems  like  a  contradiction,  doesn't  it  ?  I  don't  un 
derstand  how  I  could  feel  two  ways.  Btit  just  at  first  I 
wanted  you  to  hate  me.  I  thought  you  would  be  less 
unhappy  if  you  hated  me;  and  besides,  I  wanted  to  feel 
the  whips.  I  felt  them— oh,  I  felt  them!  .  .  .  And  all 

432 


THE    IRON   WOMAN 

the  time  I  thought  that  soon  I  would  die.  But  death 
would  have  been  too  easy.  I  had  to  go  on  living." 
There  was  another  long  silence;  he  kissed  her  hand 
once;  but  he  did  not  speak.  .  .  .  "And  the  days  went 
on,  and  went  on,  and  went  on.  Sometimes  I  didn't 
feel  anything;  but  sometimes  it  was  like  stringing  sharp 
beads  on  a  red-hot  wire.  I  suppose  that  sounds  foolish  ? 
But  when  his  mother  disinherited  him,  I  knew  I  would 
have  to  go  on — stringing  beads.  Because  it  would  have 
been  mean,  then,  to  leave  him.  You  see  that,  David  ? 
Besides,  I  was  a  spoiled  thing,  a  worthless  thing.  If 
staying  with  him  would  make  up  for  the  harm  I  had  done 
him, — Mrs.  Maitland  told  me  I  had  injured  him;  why 
of  course,  there  was  nothing  else  to  do.  I  knew  you 
would  understand.  So  I  stayed.  'Unkind  to  me?'" 
She  bent  forward  a  little  to  hear  his  smothered  question. 
"Oh  no;  never.  I  used  to  wish  he  would  be.  But  he — 
loved  me" — she  shuddered.  "Oh,  David,  how  I  have 
dreamed  of  your  arms.  David  .  .  .  David  ..." 

They  had  forgotten  that  each  had  believed  love  had 
ceased  in  the  other;  they  did  not  even  assert  that  it 
was  unchanged.  Nor  was  there  any  plea  for  forgive 
ness  on  either  side.  The  moment  was  too  great  for 
that. 

She  sank  back  in  her  chair  with  a  long  breath.  He 
rose,  and  kneeling  beside  her,  drew  her  against  his 
breast.  She  sighed  with  comfort.  "Here!  At  last  to 
be  here.  I  never  thought  it  would  be.  It  is  heaven. 
Yes;  I  shall  remember  that  I  have  been  in  heaven.  But 
I  don't  think  I  shall  be  sent  to  hell.  No;  God  won't 
punish  me  any  more.  It  will  be  just  sleep." 

He  had  to  bend  his  ear  almost  to  her  white  lips  to 
catch  her  whisper.  "What  did  I  say?  I  don't  remem 
ber  exactly;  I  am  so  happy.  .  .  .  Let  me  be  quiet  a 
little  while.  I'm  pretty  tired.  May  I  stay  until  morn 
ing  ?  It  is  raining,  and  if  I  may  stay  ...  I  will  go  away 
very  early  in  the  morning." 

433 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

The  long,  rambling,  half-whispered  story  had  followed 
the  fierce  statement,  flung  at  him  when  she  burst  in  out 
of  the  storm,  and  stood,  sodden  with  rain,  trembling  with 
fatigue  and  cold,  and  pushing  from  her  his  alarmed  and 
outstretched  hands,— the  statement  that  she  had  left 
Blair!  There  were  only  a  few  words  in  the  outburst 
of  terrible  anger  which  had  been  dormant  in  her  for 
all  these  years:  "He  stole  your  wife.  Now  he  is  steal 
ing  your  money.  I  told  him  he  couldn't  keep  them 
both.  Your  wife  has  come  back  to  you.  I  have  left 
him—" 

Even  while  she  was  stammering,  shrilly,  the  furious 
finality,  he  caught  her,  swaying,  in  his  arms.  It  was  an 
hour  before  she  could  speak  coherently  of  the  happenings 
of  the  last  twenty-four  hours ;  she  had  to  be  warmed  and 
fed  and  calmed.  And  it  was  curious  how  the  lover  in 
him  and  the  physician  in  him  alternated  in  that  hour; 
he  had  been  instant  with  the  soothing  commonplace  of 
help, — her  wet  clothes,  her  chilled  body,  her  hunger, 
were  his  first  concern.  "I  know  you  are  hungry,"  he 
said,  cheerfully;  but  his  hands  shook  as  he  put  food 
before  her.  When  he  drew  her  chair  up  to  the  fire,  and 
kneeling  down,  took  off  her  wet  shoes,  he  held  her  slender, 
tired  feet  in  his  hands  and  chafed  them  gently;  but  sud 
denly  laid  them  against  his  breast,  wanning  them,  mur 
muring  over  them  with  a  sobbing  breath,  as  though  he 
felt  the  weariness  of  the  little  feet,  plodding,  plodding, 
plodding  through  the  rain  to  find  him.  The  next  minute 
he  was  the  doctor,  ordering  her  with  smiling  words  to  lie 
back  in  her  chair  and  rest;  then  looking  at  her  with  a 
groan. 

When  at  last  she  was  coherent  again,  she  began  that 
pitiful  confession,  and  he  listened;  at  first  walking  up 
and  down;  then  coming  nearer;  sitting  beside  her; 
then  kneeling;  then  lifting  her  and  holding  her  against 
his  breast.  When,  relaxing  in  his  arms  like  a  tired  child, 
she  ended,  almost  in  a  whisper,  with  her  timid  plea  to 

434  - 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

be  allowed  to  stay  until  morning,  the  tears  dropped  down 
his  face. 

''Until  morning?"  he  said,  with  a  laugh  that  broke  into 
a  sob — "until  death!" 

Long  before  this  his  first  uneasiness,  at  the  situation— 
for  her  sake, — had  disappeared.  The  acquired  uneasi 
nesses  of  convention  vanish  before  the  primal  realities. 
The  long-banked  fire  had  glowed,  then  broken  into 
flames  that  consumed  such  chaff  as  "propriety."  As  he 
held  her  in  his  arms  after  that  whispered  and  rambling 
story  of  despair,  he  trembled  all  over.  For  Elizabeth 
there  had  never  been  a  single  moment  of  conventional 
consciousness;  she  was  solemnly  unaware  of  everything 
but  the  fact  that  they  were  together  for  this  last  mo 
ment.  When  he  said  "until  death,"  she  lifted  her  head 
and  looked  at  him. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "  until  death ." 

Something  in  her  broken  whisper  touched  him  like 
ice.  He  was  suddenly  rigid.  "  Elizabeth,  where  did  you 
mean  to  go  to-morrow  morning?"  She  made  no  answer, 
but  he  felt  that  she  was  alert.  "Elizabeth!  Tell  me! 
what  do  you  mean?"  His  loud  and  terrified  command 
made  her  quiver;  she  was  bewildered  by  the  unexpected 
ness  of  his  suspicion,  but  too  dulled  and  stunned  to  evade 
it.  David,  with  his  ear  close  to  her  lips,  raised  his 
head.  "Elizabeth,  don't  you  understand?  Dear,  this 
is  life,  not  death,  for  us  both." 

She  drew  away  from  him  with  a  long  sigh,  struggling 
up  feebly  out  of  his  arms  and  groping  for  her  chair;  she 
shook  her  head,  smiling  faintly.  "I'm  sorry  you 
guessed.  No,  I  can't  go  on  living.  There's  no  use  talk 
ing  about  it,  David.  I  can't." 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her,  pale  from  the  shock  of 
his  discovery.  "  Listen  to  me,  Elizabeth :  you  belong 
to  me.  Don't  you  understand,  dear?  You  always  have 
belonged  to  me.  He  knew  it  when  he  stole  you  from 
yourself,  as  well  as  from  me.  You  have  always  been 

435 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

mine.  You  have  come  back  to  me.  Do  you  think  I 
will  let  Blair  Maitland  or  death  or  God  Almighty,  steal 
now?  Never.  You  belong  to  me!  to  me!" 

"But — "  she  began. 

"Oh,  Elizabeth,  what  do  we  care  for  what  they  call 
right  and  wrong?  *  Right*  is  being  together!" 

She  frowned  in  a  puzzled  way.  She  had  not  been 
thinking  of  "right  and  wrong";  her  mind  had  been  ab 
sorbed  by  the  large  and  simple  necessity  of  death.  But 
his  inevitable  reasonableness,  ignoring  her  organic  im 
pulse,  was  already  splitting  hairs  to  justify  an  organic 
impulse  of  his  own. 

"God  gave  you  to  me,"  he  said,  "and  by  God  I'll  keep 
you!  That's  what  is  right;  if  we  parted  now  it  would 
be  wrong." 

It  seemed  as  if  the  gale  of  passion  which  had  been 
slowly  rising  in  him  in  these  hours  they  had  been  together 
blew  away  the  mists  in  which  her  mind  had  been  groping, 
blew  away  the  soothing  fogs  of  death  which  had  been 
closing  in  about  her,  and  left  her,  shrinking,  in  sudden, 
confusing  light. 

"Wrong?"  she  said,  dazed;  "I  hadn't  thought  about 
that.  David,  I  wouldn't  have  come  to  you  except — 
except  because  it  was  the  end.  Anything  else  is  im 
possible,  you  know." 

"Why?"  he  demanded. 

"I  am  married,"  she  said,  bewildered. 

He  laughed  under  his  breath.  "Blair  Maitland  will 
take  his  own  medicine,  now,"  he  said; — "you  are  mar 
ried  to  me!" 

The  triumph  in  his  voice,  while  it  vaguely  alarmed  her, 
struck  some  answering  chord  in  her  mind,  for  while 
mechanically  she  contradicted  him,  some  deeper  self  was 
saying,  "yes;  yes." 

But  aloud  she  said,  "It  can't  be,  David;  don't  you 
see  it  can't  be?" 

"But  it  is  already;  I  will  never  let  you  go.  I've  got 
436 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

you — at  last.  Elizabeth,  listen  to  me;  while  you've 
been  talking,  I've  thought  it  all  out:  as  things  are,  I 
don't  think  you  can  possibly  get  a  divorce  from  Blair 
and  marry  me.  He's  'kind'  to  you,  you  say;  and  he's 
'decent,'  and  he  doesn't  drink — and  so  forth  and  so 
forth.  I  know  the  formula  to  keep  a  woman  with  a 
man  she  hates  and  call  it  being  respectable.  No,  you 
can't  get  a  divorce  from  him;  but  he  can  get  a  divorce 
from  you  ...  if  you  give  him  the  excuse  to  do  so." 

Elizabeth  looked  at  him  with  perfectly  uncompre 
hending  eyes.  The  innocence  of  them  did  not  touch 
him.  For  the  second  time  in  her  life  she  was  at  the 
mercy  of  Love.  "Blair  is  fond  of  me,"  she  said;  "he 
never  would  give  me  a  divorce.  He  has  told  me  so  a 
hundred  times.  Do  you  suppose  I  haven't  begged  him 
to  let  me  go  ?  On  my  knees  I  begged  him.  No,  David, 
there  is  no  way  out  except — " 

"There  is  a  way  out  if  you  love  me  enough  to — come 
to  me.  Then,"  he  said  in  a  whisper,  "  he  will  divorce  you 
and  we  can  be  married.  Oh,  Elizabeth,  death  is  not  the 
way  out ;  it  is  life,  dear,  life !  Will  you  live  ?  Will  you 
give  me  life?"  He  was  breathing  as  if  he  had  been  run 
ning;  he  held  her  fingers  against  his  lips  until  he  bruised 
them. 

She  understood.  After  a  minute  of  silence  she  said, 
faintly:  "As  for  me,  nothing  matters.  Even  if  it  is 
wicked — " 

"It  is  not  wicked!" 

"Well,  if  it  were,  if  you  wanted  me  I  would  come. 
I  don't  seem  to  care.  Nothing  seems  to  me  wrong  in  the 
whole  world.  And  nothing  right.  Do  you  understand, 
David?  I  am — done.  My  life  is  worthless,  anyhow. 
Use  it — and  throw  it  away.  But  it  would  ruin  you. 
No,  I  won't  do  it." 

"Ruin  me?  It  would  make  me!  I  have  shriveled,  I 
have  starved,  I  have  frozen  without  you.  Ask  my 
mother  if  what  I  tell  you  isn't  true." 

437 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

She  caught  her  breath  and  drew  away  from  him. 
"  Your  mother!"  she  said,  faintly.  But  he  did  not  notice 
the  recoil. 

"It  would  end  your  career,"  she  said.  She  was  con 
fused  by  the  mere  tumult  of  his  words, 

"Career!  The  only  career  I  want  is  you.  Medicine 
isn't  the  only  thing  in  the  world,  nor  Philadelphia  the 
only  place  to  practise  it.  And  if  I  can't  be  a  doctor,  I 
can  break  stones  for  my  wife.  Elizabeth,  to  love  you  is 
the  only  career  I  want.  But  you — can  you?  Am  I 
asking  more  than  you  can  give?  Do  you  care  what 
people  say  ?  We  may  not  be  able  to  be  married  for  a 
year.  Longer,  perhaps;  the  law  takes  time.  They  will 
call  it  disgrace,  you  know,  the  people  who  don't  know 
what  love  means.  Could  you  bear  that — for  me?  Do 
you  love  me  enough  for  that,  Elizabeth?" 

His  voice  was  hoarse  with,  passion.  He  was  on  his 
knees  beside  her,  his  face  hot  against  hers,  his  arms 
around  her.  Not  only  his  bitterly  thought-out  theories 
of  individualism,  but  all  his  years  of  decent  living,  con 
tributed  to  his  overthrow  at  that  moment.  He  was  a 
man;  and  here  was  his  woman,  who  had  been  torn 
from  him  by  a  thief:  she  had  come  back  to  him,  she 
had  toiled  back  through  the  storm,  she  had  fought 
back  through  cruel  and  imprisoning  ties  that  had  held 
her  for  nearly  three  years ;  should  he  not  keep  her,  now 
that  she  had  come  ?  The  cave-dweller  in  him  cried  out 
' '  Yes  r '  To  let  her  go  now,  would  be  to  loosen  his  fingers 
just  as  they  gripped  the  neck  of  the  thief  who  had 
robbed  him !  In  the  madness  of  that  moment  of  hate  and 
love,  his  face  on  hers,  his  arms  around  her,  David  did  not 
know  that  his  tears  were  wet  on  her  lips. 

"Mine,"  he  said,  panting;  "mine!  my  own  has  come 
back  to  me.  Say  so;  tell  me  so  yourself.  Say  it!  I 
want  to  hear  you  say  it." 

"Why  David,  I  have  always  bee_n_yniif^  But  I  am 
not  worth  taking.  I  am  not— 

438 


"WILL      YOU      LIVE?         WILL      YOU      GIVE      ME      LIFE?" 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Hush!  You  are  mine.  They  shall  never  part  us 
again.  Elizabeth — to-morrow  we  will  go  away."  She 
sank  against  him  in  silence;  for  a  while  he  was  silent, 
too.  Then,  in  a  low  voice,  he  told  her  how  they  must 
carry  out  a  plan  which  had  sprung,  full- winged,  from  his 
mind;  "when  he  knows  you  have  been  here  to-night," 
David  said, — and  trembled  from  head  to  foot;  "he  will 
divorce  you." 

She  listened,  assenting,  but  bewildered.  "  I  was  going 
to  die,"  she  said,  faintly;  "I  don't  know  how  to  live. 
Oh,  I  think  the  other  way  would  be  better." 

But  he  did  not  stop  to  discuss  it ;  he  had  put  her  back 
into  the  reclining  chair — once  in  a  while  the  physician 
remembered  her  fatigue,  though  for  the  most  part  the 
lover  thought  only  of  himself;  he  saw  how  white  she  was, 
and  put  her  in  the  big  chair;  then,  drawing  up  a  foot 
stool,  he  sat  down,  keeping  her  hand  in  his;  sometimes 
he  kissed  it,  but  all  the  time  he  talked  violently  of  right 
and  wrong.  Elizabeth  was  singularly  indifferent  to  his 
distinctions;  perhaps  the  deep  and  primitive  experience 
of  looking  into  the  face  of  Death  made  her  so.  At  any 
rate,  her  question  was  not  "  Is  it  right  ?"  it  was  only  "  Is 
it  best  ?"  Was  it  best  for  him  to  do  this  thing?  Would 
it  not  injure  him  ?  David,  brushing  away  her  objections 
with  an  exultant  belief  in  himself,  was  far  less  elemental. 
Right?  What  made  right  and  wrong?  Law?  Eliza 
beth  knew  better!  Unless  she  meant  God's  law.  As 
far  as  that  went,  she  was  breaking  it  if  she  went  on  living 
with  Blair.  As  for  dying,  she  had  no  right  to  die!  She 
was  his.  Would  she  rob  him  again  ? 

It  was  all  the  everlasting,  perfectly  sincere  sophistry  of 
the  man  who  has  been  swept  past  honor  and  prudence 
and  even  pity,  that  poured  from  David's  lips;  and  with 
it,  love!  love!  love!  Elizabeth,  listening  to  it,  carried 
along  by  it,  had,  in  the  extraordinary  confusion  of  the 
moment,  nothing  to  oppose  to  it  but  her  own  unworth. 
To  this  he  refused  to  listen,  closing  her  lips  with  his  own, 

439 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

and  then  going  on  with  his  quite  logical  reasoning.  His 
mind  was  alert  to  meet  and  arrange  every  difficulty  and 
every  detail;  once,  half  laughing,  he  stopped  to  say, 
"We'll  have  to  live  on  your  money,  Elizabeth.  See 
what  I've  come  to!"  The  old  scruples  seemed,  beside 
this  new  reality,  merely  ridiculous — although  there  was 
a  certain  satisfaction  in  throwing  overboard  that  hid 
eous  egotism  of  his,  which  had  made  all  the  trouble  that 
had  come  to  them.  "  You  see,"  he  explained,  "  we  shall 
go  away  for  a  while,  until  you  get  your  divorce.  And  it 
will  take  time  to  pick  up  a  practice,  especially,  in  a  new 
place.  So  you  will  probably  have  to  support  me,"  he 
ended,  smiling.  But  she  was  too  much  at  peace  in  the 
haven  of  his  clasping  arms  even  to  smile.  Once,  when 
he  confessed  his  shame  at  having  doubted  her — ''for  I 
did,"  he  said;  "I  actually  thought  you  cared  for  him!" 
she  roused  herself:  "It  was  my  fault.  I  won't  let  you 
blame  yourself;  it  was  all  my  fault!"  she  said;  then  sank 
again  into  dreaming  quiet. 

It  was  midnight;  the  fire  had  died  dowrn;  a  stick  of 
drift-wood  on  the  iron  dogs,  gnawed  through  by  shim 
mering  blue  and  copper  flames,  broke  apart,  and  a  shower 
of  sparks  flew  up,  caught  in  the  soot,  and  smoldered  in 
spreading  rosettes  on  the  chimney-back.  The  night, 
pressing  black  against  the  windows,  was  full  of  the  mur 
murous  silence  of  the  rain  and  the  soft  advancing  crash 
of  the  incoming  tide;  the  man  and  woman  were  silent, 
too.  Sometimes  he  would  kiss  the  little  scar  on  her  wrist ; 
sometimes  press  his  lips  into  the  soft  cup  of  her  palm; 
there  seemed  no  need  of  words.  It  was  in  one  of  these  si 
lences  that  David  suddenly  raised  his  head  and  frowned. 

"Listen!"  he  said;  then  a  moment  later:  "wheels! 
here?  at  this  time  of  night!" 

Elizabeth  crouched  back  in  her  chair.  "It  is  Blair. 
He  has  followed  me — " 

" No,  no;  it  is  somebody  who  has  lost  his  way  in  the 
rain.  Yes,  I  hear  him;  he  is  coming  in  to  ask  the  road.". 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

There  were  hurried  steps  on  the  porch,  and  Elizabeth 
grew  so  deadly  white  that  David  said  again,  reassur 
ingly:  "It's  some  passer-by.  I'll  send  him  about  his 
business." 

Loud,  vehement  knocking  interrupted  him,  and  he 
said,  cheerfully:  "Confound  them,  making  such  a  noise! 
Don't  be  frightened;  it  is  only  some  farmer — ' 

He  took  up  a  lamp  and,  closing  the  door  of  the  living- 
room  behind  him,  went  out  into  the  hall;  some  one,  who 
ever  it  was,  was  fumbling  with  the  knob  of  the  front  door 
as  if  in  terrible  haste.  David  slipped  the  bolt  and  would 
have  opened  the  door,  but  it  seemed  to  burst  in,  and 
against  it,  clinging  to  the  knob,  panting  and  terrified, 
stood  his  mother. 

"David!  Is  she —  Am  I  too  late?  David!  Where 
is  Elizabeth  ?  Am  I  too  late?" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

THE  rainy  dawn  which  Elizabeth  had  seen  glimmering 
in  the  steam  and  smoke  of  the  railroad  station  filtered 
wanly  through  Mercer's  yellow  fog.  In  Mrs.  Maitland's 
office-dining-room  the  gas,  burning  in  an  orange  halo, 
threw  a  livid  light  on  the  haggard  faces  of  four  people 
who  had  not  slept  that  night. 

When  Blair  had  come  frantically  back  from  his  fruit 
less  quest  at  the  hotel  to  say,  "Is  she  here,  now?"  Mrs. 
Richie  had  sent  him  at  once  to  Mr.  Ferguson,  who, 
roused  from  his  bed,  instantly  took  command. 

"Tell  me  just  what  has  happened,  please?"  he  said. 

Blair,  almost  in  collapse,  told  the  story  of  the  after 
noon.  He  held  nothing  back.  In  the  terror  that  con 
sumed  him,  he  spared  himself  nothing;  he  had  made 
Elizabeth  angry;  frightfully  angry.  But  she  didn't  show 
it;  she  had  even  said  she  was  not  angry.  But  she  said — 
and  he  repeated  that  sword-like  sentence  about  "David's 
money  and  David's  wife."  Then,  almost  in  a  whisper, 
he  added  her  question  about — drowning.  "She  has — " 
he  said;  he  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 

Robert  Ferguson  made  no  comment,  but  his  face 
quivered.  "Have  you  a  carriage?"  he  asked,  shrugging 
into  his  overcoat.  Blair  nodded,  and  they  set  out. 

It  was  after  five  when  they  came  back  "to  Mrs.  Mait 
land's  dining-room,  where  the  gaslight  struggled  in 
effectually  with  the  fog.  They  had  done  everything 
which,  at  that  hour,  could  be  done. 

"Oh,  when  will  it  ever  get  light!"  Blair  said,  despair 
ingly.  He  pushed  aside  the  food  Nannie  had  placed  on 

442 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  table  for  them,  and  dropped  his  face  on  his  arms. 
He  had  a  sudden  passionate  longing  for  his  mother;  she 
would  have  done  something !  She  would  have  told  these 
people,  these  dazed,  terrified  people!  what  to  do.  She 
always  knew  what  to  do.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he 
needed  his  mother, 

Robert  Ferguson,  standing  at  the  window,  was  staring 
out  at  the  blind,  yellow  mist.  "As  soon  as  it's  light 
enough,  we'll  get  a  boat  and  go  down  the  river,"  he  said, 
with  heavy  significance. 

"But  it  is  absurd  to  jump  at  such  a  conclusion,"  Mrs. 
Richie  protested. 

"You  don't  know  her,"  Elizabeth's  uncle  said,  briefly. 

Blair  echoed  the  words.     "No;   you  don't  know  her.' 

"All  the  same,  I  don't  believe  it!"  Mrs.  Richie  said, 
emphatically.  "For  one  thing,  Blair  says  that  her 
comb  and  brush  are  not  on  her  bureau.  A  girl  doesn't 
take  her  toilet  things  with  her  when  she  goes  out  to — ' 

"Elizabeth  might,"  Mr.  Ferguson  said. 

Blair,  looking  up,  broke  out:  "Oh,  that  money!  It's 
that  that  has  made  all  the  trouble.  Why  did  I  say  1 
wouldn't  give  it  up?  I'd  throw  it  into  the  fire,  if  it 
would  bring  her  back  to  me!" 

Mrs.  Richie  was  silent.  Her  face  was  tense  with 
anxiety,  but  it  was  not  the  same  anxiety  that  plowed 
the  other  faces.  "Did  you  go  to  the  depot?"  she  said. 
"Perhaps  she  took  the  night  train.  The  ticket-agent 
might  have  seen  her." 

"But  why  should  she  take  a  night  train?"  Blair  said; 
"where  would  she  go?" 

"Why  should  she  do  a  great  many  things  she  has 
done?"  Mrs.  Richie  parried;  and  added,  softly,  "I  want 
to  speak  to  you,  Blair;  come  into  the  parlor  for  a  min 
ute."  When  they  were  alone,  she  said, — her  eyes  avoid 
ing  his;  "I  have  an  idea  that  she  has  gone  to  Phila 
delphia.  To  see  me." 

"You?     But  you  are  here!" 
443 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Yes  ;  but  perhaps  she  thought  I  went  home  yester 
day;  you  thought  so." 

Blair  grasped  at  a  straw  of  hope.     "  I  will  telegraph — " 

"  No;  that  would  be  of  no  use.  The  servants  couldn't 
answer  it;  and — and  there  is  no  one  else  there.  I  will 
take  the  morning  express,  and  telegraph  you  as  soon  as 
I  get  home." 

"But  I  can't  wait  all  day!"  he  said;  "I  will  wire — " 
he  paused ;  it  struck  him  like  a  blow  that  there  was  only 
one  person  to  whom  to  wire.  The  blood  rushed  to  his 
face.  "  You  think  that  she  has  gone  to  him?" 

"I  think  she  has  gone  to  me,"  she  told  him,  coldly. 
"What  more  natural?     I  am  an  old  friend,  and  she  was 
angry  with  you." 

"Yes;  she  was,  but — " 

"As  for  my  son,"  said  Mrs.  Richie,  "he  is  not  at  home; 
but  I  assure  you," — she  stumbled  a  little  over  this;  "I 
assure  you  that  if  he  were  he  would  have  no  desire  to  see 
your  wife." 

Blair  was  silent.  Then  he  said,  in  a  smothered  voice: 
"  If  she  is  at  your  house,  tell  her  I  won't  keep  the  money. 
I'll  make  Nannie  build  a  hospital  with  it;  or  I'll  ....  tell 
her,  if  she  will  only  just  come  back  to  me,  I'll — "  He 
could  not  go  on. 

"Blair,"  Robert  Ferguson  said,  from  the  doorway, 
"it  is  light  enough  now  to  get  a  boat." 

Blair  nodded.  "  If  she  has  gone  to  you,  if  she  is  alive," 
he  said,  "tell  her  I'll  give  him  the  money." 

Helena  Richie  lifted  her  head  with  involuntary  hau 
teur.  "My  son  has  no  interest  in  your  money!" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  brokenly,  "you  can't  seem  to  think  of 
anything  but  his  quarrel  with  me.  Somehow,  all  that 
seems  so  unimportant  now!  Why,  I'd  ask  David  to  help 
me,  if  I  could  reach  him."  He  did  not  see  her  relenting, 
outstretched  hand ;  for  the  first  time  in  a  life  starved  for 
want  of  the  actualities  of  pain,  Blair  was  suffering;  he 
forgot  embarrassment,  he  even  forgot  hatred ;  he  touched 

444 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

fundamentals:  the  need  of  help  and  the  instinctive 
reliance  upon  friendship.  "David  would  help  me!"  he 
said,  passionately;  "or  my  mother  would  know  what  to 
do;  but  you  people — "  He  dashed  after  Mr.  Ferguson, 
and  a  moment  later  Mrs.  Richie  heard  the  carriage  rattling 
down  the  street ;  the  two  men  were  going  to  the  river  to 
begin  their  heart -sickening  search. 

It  was  then  that  she  started  upon  a  search  of  her  own. 
She  made  a  somewhat  lame  excuse  to  Nannie — Nannie 
was  the  last  person  to  be  intrusted  with  Helena  Richie's 
fears!  Then  she  took  the  morning  express  across  the 
mountains.  She  sat  all  day  in  fierce  alternations  of 
hope  and  angry  concern:  Surely  Elizabeth  was  alive; 
but  suppose  she  was  alive  —  with  David!  David's 
mother,  remembering  what  he  had  said  to  her  that 
Sunday  afternoon  on  the  beach,  knew,  in  the  bottom 
of  her  heart,  that  she  would  rather  have  Elizabeth 
dead  than  alive  under  such  conditions.  Her  old  mis 
givings  began  to  press  upon  her:  the  conditions  might 
have  held  no  danger  for  him  if  he  had  had  a  different 
mother!  She  found  herself  remembering,  with  anguish, 
a  question  that  had  been  asked  her  very  long  ago,  when 
David  was  a  little  boy:  Can  you  make  him  brave;  can 
you  make  him  honorable;  can  you — "I've  tried,  oh,  I 
have  tried,"  she  said;  "but  perhaps  Dr.  Lavendar  ought 
not  to  have  given  him  to  me ! "  It  was  an  unendurable  idea ; 
she  drove  it  out  of  her  mind,  and  sat  looking  at  the  mist- 
enfolded  mountains,  struggling  to  decide  between  a  hope 
that  implied  a  fear  and  a  fear  that  destroyed  a  hope; 
— but  every  now  and  then,  under  both  the  hope  and  the 
fear,  came  a  pang  of  memory  that  sent  the  color  into  her 
face:  Robert  Ferguson's  library;  his  words;  his  kiss.  .  .  . 

As  the  afternoon  darkened  into  dusk,  through  sheer 
fatigue  she  relaxed  into  certainty  that  both  the  hope 
and  the  fear  were  baseless:  Elizabeth  had  not  gone  to 
David;  she  couldn't  have  done  such  an  insane  thing! 
David's  mother  began  to  be  sorry  she  had  suggested 

445 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

to  Blair  that  his  wife  might  be  in  Philadelphia.  She 
began  to  wish  she  had  stayed  in  Mercer,  and  not  left 
them  all  to  their  cruel  anxiety.  "If  she  has  done 
what  they  think,  I'll  go  back  to-morrow.  Robert  will 
need  me,  and  David  would  want  me  to  go  back."  It 
occurred  to  her,  with  a  lift  of  joy,  that  she  might  possibly 
find  David  at  home.  Owing  to  the  bad  weather,  he 
might  not  have  gone  down  to  the  beach  to  close  the 
cottage  as  he  had  written  her  he  meant  to  do.  She 
wondered  how  he  would  take  this  news  about,  Elizabeth. 
For  a  moment  she  almost  hoped  he  would  not  be  at  home, 
so  that  she  need  not  tell  him.  "  Oh,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"when  will  he  get  over  her  cruelty  to  him?"  As  she 
gathered  up  her  wraps  to  leave  the  car,  she  wondered 
whether  human  creatures  ever  did  quite  "get  over"  the 
catastrophes  of  life.  "Have  I?  And  I  am  fifty, — and 
it  was  twenty  years  ago!" 

When  with  a  lurch  the  cab  drew  up  against  the  curb, 
her  glance  at  the  unlighted  windows  of  her  parlor  made 
her  sigh  with  relief ;  there  was  nobody  there !  Yes ;  she 
had  certainly  been  foolish  to  rush  off  across  the  moun 
tains,  and  leave  those  poor,  distressed  people  in  Mercer. 

"The  doctor  is  at  Little  Beach,  I  suppose?"  she  said 
to  the  woman  who  answered  her  ring;  "By-the-way, 
Mary,  no  one  has  been  here  to-day?  No  lady  to  see 
me?" 

"There  was  a  lady  to  see  the  doctor;  she  was  just 
possessed  to  see  him.  I  told  her  he  was  down  at  the 
beach,  and  she  was  that  upset,"  Mary  said,  smiling, 
"you'd  'a'  thought  there  wasn't  another  doctor  in 
Philadelphia!"  Patients  were  still  enough  of  a  rarity 
to  interest  the  whole  friendly  household. 

"Who  was  she?  What  was  she  like?  Did  she  give 
her  name?"  Mrs.  Richie  was  breathless;  the  servant 
was  startled  at  the  change  in  her;  fear,  like  a  tangible 
thing,  leaped  upon  her  and  shook  her. 

"Who  was  she?"  Mrs.  Richie  said,  fiercely= 
446 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

The  surprised  woman,  giving  the  details  of  that  early 
call,  was,  of  course,  ignorant  of  the  lady's  name;  but 
after  the  first  word  or  two  David's  mother  knew  it. 
"Bring  me  a  time-table.  Never  mind  my  supper!  I 
must  see  the  lady.  I  think  I  know  who  she  was.  She 
wanted  to  see  me,  and  I  must  find  her.  I  know  where 
she  has  gone.  Hurry!  Where  is  the  new  time-table?" 

"She  didn't  ask  for  you,  'm,"  the  bewildered  maid 
assured  her. 

Mrs.  Richie  was  not  listening;  she  was  turning  the 
leaves  of  the  Pathfinder  with  trembling  fingers;  the 
trains  had  been  changed  on  the  little  branch  road,  but 
somehow  she  must  get  there, — "to-night!"  she  said  to  her 
self.  To  find  a  train  to  Normans  was  an  immense  relief, 
though  it  involved  a  fourteen-mile  drive  to  Little  Beach. 
She  could  not  reach  them  ("them!"  she  was  sure  of  it 
now) ,  she  could  not  reach  them  until  nearly  twelve,  but 
she  would  be  able  to  say  that  Elizabeth  had  spent  the 
night  with  her. 

The  hour  before  the  train  started  for  Normans  seemed 
endless  to  Helena  Richie.  She  sent  a  despatch  to  Blair 
to  say: 

"7  have  found  her.  Do  not  come  for  her  yet.  This 
is  imperative.  Will  telegraph  you  to-morrow." 

After  that  she  walked  about,  up  and  down,  some 
times  stopping  to  look  out  of  the  window  into  the  rain 
swept  street,  sometimes  pausing  to  pick  up  a  book  but 
though  she  turned  over  the  pages,  she  did  not  know 
what  she  read.  She  debated  constantly  whether  she 
had  done  well  to  telegraph  Blair.  Suppose,  in  spite  of 
her  command,  he  should  rush  right  on  to  Philadelphia, 
"then  what!"  she  said  to  herself,  frantically.  If  "he 
found  that  Elizabeth  had  followed  David  down  to  the 
cottage,  what  would  he  do?  There  would  be  a  scandal! 
And  it  was  not  David's  fault — she  had  followed  him; 
how  like  her  to  follow  him,  careless  of  everything  but 
her  own  whim  of  the  moment !  She  would  have  recalled 
29  447 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  despatch  if  she  could  have  done  so.  "If  Robert  were 
only  here  to  tell  me  what  to  do!"  she  thought,  realizing, 
even  in  her  cruel  alarm,  how  greatly  she  depended  on 
him.  Suddenly  she  must  have  realized  something  else, 
for  a  startled  look  came  into  her  eyes.  "No!  of  course 
I'm  not,'*  she  said;  but  the  color  rose  in  her  face.  The 
revelation  was  only  for  an  instant ;  the  next  moment  she 
was  tense  with  anxiety  and  counting  the  minutes  before 
she  could  start  for  the  station. 

It  was  a  great  relief  when  she  found  herself  at  last  on 
the  little  local  train,  rattling  out  into  the  rainy  night. 
When  she  reached  Normans  it  was  not  easy  to  get  a 
carriage  to  go  to  Little  Beach.  No  depot  hack-driver 
would  consider  such  a  drive  on  such  a  night.  She  found 
her  way  through  the  rainy  streets  to  a  livery-stable,  and 
standing  in  the  doorway  of  a  little  office  that  smelled  of 
harnesses  and  horses,  she  bargained  with  a  reluctant 
man,  who,  though  polite  enough  to  take  his  feet  from 
his  desk  and  stand  up  before  a  lady,  told  her  point-blank 
that  there  wasn't  no  money,  no,  nor  no  woman,  that  he'd 
drive  twenty-eight  miles  for — down  to  the  beach  and 
back;  on  no  such  night  as  this;  "but  maybe  one  of  my 
men  might,  if  you'd  make  it  worth  his  while,"  he  said, 
doubtfully. 

"  I  will  make  it  worth  his  while,"  Mrs.  Richie  said. 

"There's  a  sort  of  inlet  between  us  and  the  beach, 
kind  of  a  river,  like;  you'll  have  to  ferry  over,"  the  man 
warned  her. 

"Please  get  the  carriage  at  once,"  she  said. 

So  the  long  drive  began.  It  was  very  dark.  At  times 
the  rain  sheeted  down  so  that  little  streams  of  water 
dripped  upon  her  from  the  top  of  the  carryall,  and  the 
side  curtains  napped  so  furiously  that  she  could  scarcely 
hear  the  driver  grumbling  that  if  he'd  'a'  knowed  what 
kind  of  a  night  it  was  he  wouldn't  have  undertook  the 
job. 

"I'll  pay  you  double  your  price,"  she  said  in  a  lull  of 
448 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  storm;  and  after  that  there  was  only  the  sheeting 
rain  and  the  tugging  splash  of  mud-loaded  fetlocks.  At 
the  ferry  there  was  a  long  delay.  "The  ferry-man's 
asleep,  I  guess,"  the  driver  told  her;  certainly  there  was 
no  light  in  the  little  weather-beaten  house  on  the  river- 
bank.  The  man  clambered  out  from  under  the  streaming 
rubber  apron  of  the  carryall,  and  handing  the  wet  reins 
back  to  her  to  hold — "that  horse  takes  a  notion  to  run 
sometimes,"  he  said,  casually;  made  his  way  to  the 
ferry-house.  "Come  out!"  he  said,  pounding  on  the 
door;  "tend  to  your  business!  there's  a  lady  wants  to 
cross!" 

The  ferry-man  had  his  opinion  of  ladies  who  wanted 
to  do  such  things  in  such  weather;  but  he  came,  after 
what  seemed  to  the  shivering  passenger  an  interminable 
time,  and  the  carryall  was  driven  onto  the  flat-bottomed 
boat.  A  minute  later  the  creak  of  the  cable  and  the 
slow  rock  of  the  carriage  told  her  they  had  started.  It 
was  too  dark  to  see  anything,  but  she  could  hear  the 
sibilant  slap  of  the  water  against  the  side  of  the  scow 
and  the  brush  of  rain  on  the  river.  Once  the  dripping 
horse  shook  himself,  and  the  harness  rattled  and  the  old 
hack  quivered  on  its  sagging  springs.  She  realized  that 
she  was  cold;  she  could  hear  the  driver  and  the  ferry 
man  talking;  there  was  the  blue  spurt  of  a  match,  and 
a  whiff  of  very  bad  tobacco  from  a  pipe.  Then  a  dash 
of  rain  blew  in  her  face,  and  the  smell  of  the  pipe  was 
washed  out  of  the  air.  . 

It  was  after  twelve  when,  stumbling  up  the  path  to  her 
own  house,  she  leaned  against  the  door  awaiting  David's 
answer  to  her  knock;  when  he  opened  it  to  the  gust  of 
wet  wind  and  her  drawn,  white  face,  he  was  stunned 
with  astonishment.  He  never  knew  what  answer  he 
made  to  those  first  broken,  frantic  words;  as  for  her, 
she  did  not  wait  to  hear  his  answer.  She  ran  past  him 
and  burst  into  the  fire-lit  silence  that  was  still  tingling 
with  emotion.  She  saw  Elizabeth  rising,  panic-stricken, 

449 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

from  her  chair.  Clutching  her  shoulder,  she  looked  hard 
into  the  younger  woman's  face;  then,  with  a  great  sigh, 
she  sank  down  into  a  chair. 

"Thank  God!"  she  said,  faintly. 

David,  following  her,  stammered  out,  "How  did  you 
get  here?"  The  full,  hot  torrent  of  passion  of  only  a 
moment  before  had  come  to  a  crashing  standstill.  He 
could  hardly  breathe  with  the  suddenness  of  it.  His 
thoughts  galloped.  He  heard  his  own  voice  as  if  it  had 
been  somebody  else's,  and  he  was  conscious  of  his 
foolishness  in  asking  his  question ;  what  difference  did  it 
make  how  she  got  here!  Besides,  he  knew  how:  she 
had  come  over  the  mountains  that  day,  taken  the  even 
ing  train  for  Normans,  and  driven  down  here,  fourteen 
miles — in  this  storm!  "You  must  be  worn  out,"  he 
said,  involuntarily. 

"I  am  in  time;  nothing  else  matters.  David,  go  and 
pay  the  man.  Here  is  my  purse." 

He  glanced  at  Elizabeth,  hesitated,  and  went.  The 
two  women,  alone,  looked  at  each  other  for  a  speechless 
instant. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

"You  ought  not  to  be  here,  you  know,"  Helena 
Richie  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

Elizabeth  was  silent. 

"They  are  all  very  much  frightened  about  you  at 
home." 

"I  am  sorry  they  are  frightened." 

"Your  coming  might  be  misunderstood,"  David's 
mother  said;  her  voice  was  very  harsh;  the  gentle 
loveliness  of  her  face  had  changed  to  an  incredible  harsh 
ness.  "I  shall  say  I  was  here  with  you,  of  course;  but 
you  are  insane,  Elizabeth!  you  are  insane  to  be  here!" 

"Mother,"  David  said,  quietly,  "you  mustn't  find 
fault  with  Elizabeth."  He  had  come  back,  and  even  as 
he  spoke  retreating  wheels  were  heard.  They  were 
alone,  these  three;  there  was  no  world  to  any  of  them 
outside  that  fire-lit  room,  encompassed  by  night,  the 
ocean,  and  the  storm.  "Elizabeth  did  exactly  right  to 
come  down  here  to — to  consult  me,"  David  said;  "but 
we  won't  talk  about  it  now;  it's  too  late,  and  you  are 
too  tired." 

Then  turning  to  Elizabeth,  he  took  her  hand.  "  Won't 
you  go  up-stairs  now?  You  are  as  tired  as  Materna! 
But  she  must  have  something  to  eat  before  she  goes  to 
bed."  Still  holding  her  hand,  he  opened  the  door  for 
her.  "You  know  the  spare  room?  I'm  afraid  it's 
rather  in  disorder,  but  you  will  find  some  blankets  and 
things  in  the  closet." 

Elizabeth  hesitated;   then  obeyed  him. 

David  was  entirely  self-possessed  by  this  time;    in 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

that  moment  while  he  stood  in  the  rain,  counting  out  the 
money  from  his  mother's  purse  for  the  driver,  and  telling 
the  man  of  a  short  cut  across  the  dunes,  'the  emotion 
of  a  moment  before  cooled  into  grim  alertness  to 
meet  the  emergency:  there  must  be  no  scene.  To  avoid 
the  possibility  of  such  a  thing,  he  must  get  Elizabeth 
out  of  the  room  at  once.  As  he  slipped  the  bolt  on 
the  front  door  and  hurried  back  to  the  living  room,  he 
said  a  single  short  word  between  his  teeth.  But  he  was 
not  angry;  he  was  only  irritated — as  one  might  be 
irritated  at  a  good  child  whose  ignorant  innocence  led  it 
into  meddling  with  matters  beyond  its  comprehension. 
And  he  was  not  apprehensive ;  his  mother's  coming  could 
not  alter  anything;  it  was  merely  an  embarrassment 
and  distress.  What  on  earth  should  he  do  with  her  the 
next  morning!  "I'll  have  to  lie  to  her,"  he  thought,  in 
consternation.  David  had  never  lied  to  his  mother,  and 
even  in  this  self-absorbed  moment  he  shrank  from  doing 
so.  He  was  keenly  disturbed,  but  as  the  door  closed 
upon  Elizabeth  he  spoke  quietly  enough :  "  You  are  very 
tired,  Materna;  don't  let's  get  to  discussing  things  to 
night.  I'll  bring  you  something  to  eat,  and  then  you 
must  go  up  to  your  room." 

"There  is  nothing  to  discuss,  David,"  she  said;  "of 
course  Elizabeth  ought  not  to  have  come  down  here  to 
you.  But  I  am  here.  To-morrow  she  will  go  home  with 
me." 

She  had  taken  off  her  bonnet,  and  with  one  unsteady 
hand  she  brushed  back  the  tendrils  of  her  soft  hair  that 
the  rain  had  tightened  into  curls  all  about  her  temples; 
the  glow  in  her  cheeks  from  the  cold  air  was  beginning  to 
die  out,  and  he  saw,  suddenly,  the  suffering  in  her  eyes. 
But  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  David  Richie  was  indiffer 
ent  to  pain  in  his  mother's  face;  that  calm  declaration 
that  Elizabeth  would  go  home  with  her,  brushed  the 
habit  of  tenderness  aside  and  stung  him  into  argument — 
which  a  moment  later  he  regretted. 

452 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"You  say  she'll  'go  home.'  Do  you  mean  that  you 
will  take  her  back  to  Blair  Maitland?" 

"I  hope  she  will  go  to  her  husband.'' 

"Why?"  He  was  standing  before  her,  his  shoulder 
against  the  mantelpiece,  his  hands  in  his  pockets;  his 
attitude  was  careless,  but  his  face  was  alert  and  hard; 
she  no  longer  seemed  a  meddlesome  good  child ;  she  was 
his  mother,  interfering  in  what  was  not  her  business. 
"Why?"  he  repeated. 

"Because  he  is  her  husband,"  Helena  Richie  said. 

"  You  know  how  he  became  her  husband;  he  took  ad 
vantage  of  an  insane  moment.  The  marriage  has  ended." 

"Marriage  can't  end,  David.  Living  together  may 
end;  but  Blair  is  not  unkind  to  Elizabeth;  he  is  not  un 
faithful  ;  he  is  not  unloving — " 

"  No,  my  God !  he  is  not.     My  poor  Elizabeth !" 

His  mother,  looking  at  the  suddenly  convulsed  face 
before  her,  knew  that  it  was  useless  to  pretend  that 
this  was  only  a  matter  of  preserving  appearances  by 
her  presence.  "David,"  she  said,  "what  do  you  mean 
by  that?" 

"I  mean  that  she  has  done  with  that  thief."  As  he 
spoke  it  flashed  into  his  mind  that  perhaps  it  was  best  to 
have  things  out  with  her  now;  then  in  the  morning  he 
would  arrange  it,  somehow,  so  that  she  and  Elizabeth 
should  not  meet; — for  Elizabeth  must  not  hear  talk  like 
this.  Not  that  he  was  afraid  of  its  effect;  certainly  this 
soft,  sweet  mother  of  his  could  not  do  what  he  had  de 
clared  neither  Blair  Maitland,  nor  death,  nor  God  him 
self  could  accomplish!  But  her  words  would  make 
Elizabeth  uncomfortable;  so  he  had  better  tell  her 
now,  and  get  it  over.  In  the  midst  of  his  own  discom 
fort,  he  realized  that  this  would  spare  him  the  necessity 
of  a  lie  the  next  morning ;  and  he  was  conscious  of  relief 
at  that.  "Mother,"  he  said,  gently,  "I  was  going  to 
write  to  you  about  it,  but  perhaps  I  had  better  tell  you 
now.  .  .  .  She  is  coming  to  me." 

453 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Coming  to  you!" 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  and  took  her  hand  in  his; 
the  terror  in  her  face  made  him  wince.  For  a  moment  he 
wished  he  had  not  undertaken  to  tell  her;  a  letter  would 
have  been  better.  On  paper,  he  could  have  reasoned  it 
out  calmly;  now,  her  quivering  face  distressed  him  so 
that  he  hardly  knew  what  he  said. 

"Materna,  I  am  awfully  sorry  to  pain  you!  I  do 
wish  you  would  realize  that  things  have  to  be  this  way." 

"What  way?" 

"She  and  I  have  to  be  J^gether,"  he  said,  simply. 
"  Sh«^ek>rrgs^To^meT-~When  I  keep  her  from  going 
back  to  Blair  I  merely  keep  my  own.  Mother,  can't  you 
understand?  there  is  something  higher  than  man's 
law,  which  ties  a  woman  to  a  man  she  hates;  there  is 
God's  law,  which  gives  her  to  the  man  she  loves!  Oh,  I 
am  sorry  you  came  to-night!  To-morrow  I  would  have 
written  to  you.  You  don't  know  how  distressed  I  am 
to  pain  you,  but — poor  mother!" 

She  had  sunk  back  in  her  chair  with  a  blanched  face. 
She  said,  faintly,  "David!" 

"Don't  let's  talk  about  it,  Materna,"  he  said,  pitifully. 
He  could  not  bear  to  look  at  her;  it  seemed  as  if  she  had 
grown  suddenly  old;  she  was  broken,  haggard,  with 
appalled  eyes  and  trembling  lips.  "You  don't  under 
stand,"  David  said,  greatly  distressed. 

Helena  Richie  put  her  hands  over  her  face.  "Don't 
I  ?"  she  said.  There  was  a  long  pause;  he  took  her  hand 
and  stroked  it  gently;  but  in  spite  of  tenderness  for  her 
he  was  thinking  of  that  other  hand,  young  and  thrilling 
to  his  own,  which  he  had  held  an  hour  before;  his  lips 
stung  at  the  memory  of  it;  he  almost  forgot  his  mother, 
cowering  in  her  chair.  Suddenly  she  spoke : 

"Well,  David,  what  do  you  propose  to  do?  After 
you  have  seduced  another  man's  wife  and  branded 
Elizabeth  with  a — a  dreadful  name — " 

His  pity  broke  like  a  bubble ;  he  struck  the  arm  of  his 
454 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

chair  with  a  clenched  hand.  "You  must  not  use  such 
words  to  me!  I  will  not  listen  to  words  that  soil  your 
lips  and  my  ears!  Will  you  leave  this  room  or  shall  I  ?" 

"Answer  my  question  first:  what  do  you  mean  to  do 
after  you  have  taken  Elizabeth?" 

"I  shall  marry  her,  of  course.  He  will  divorce  her, 
and  we  shall  be  married."  He  was  trembling  with  in 
dignation:  "I  will  not  submit  to  this  questioning," 
he  said.  He  got  up  and  opened  the  door.  "Will  you 
leave  me,  please?"  he  said,  frigidly. 

But  she  did  not  rise.  She  was  bending  forward,  her 
hands  gripped  between  her  knees.  Then,  slowly,  she 
raised'  her  bowed  head  and  there  was  authority  in  her 
face.  "Wait.  You  must  listen.  You  owe  it  to  me  to 
listen." 

He  hesitated.  "I  owe  it  to  myself  not  to  listen  to 
such  words  as  you  used  a  moment  ago."  He  was  stand 
ing  before  her,  his  arms  folded  across  his  breast;  there 
was  no  son's  hand  put  out  now  to  touch  hers. 

"I  won't  repeat  them,"  she  said,  "although  I  don't 
know  any  others  that  can  be  used  when  a  man  takes  an 
other  man's  wife,  or  when  a  married  woman  goes  away 
with  a  man  who  is  not  her  husband." 

"You  drag  me  into  an  abominable  position  in  making 
me  even  defend  myself.  But  I  will  defend  myself.  I 
will  explain  to  you  that,  as  things  are,  Elizabeth  cannot 
get  a  divorce  from  Blair  Maitland.  But  if  she  leaves  him 
for  me,  he  will  divorce  her;  and  we  can  marry." 

"Perhaps  he  will  not  divorce  her." 

"  You  mean  out  of  revenge  ?  I  doubt  if  even  he  could 
be  such  a  brute  as  that." 

"There   have   been    such  brutes." 

"Very  well;  then  we  will  do  without  his  divorce! 
We  will  do  without  the  respectability  that  you  think 
so  much  of." 

"Nobody  can  do  without  it  very  long,"  she  said, 
mildly.  "But  we  won't  argue  about  respectability; 

455 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

and  I  won't  even  ask  you  whether  you  will  marry  her,  if 
she  gets  her  divorce." 

His  indignation  paused  in  sheer  amazement.  "No," 
he  said.  "I  should  hardly  think  that  even  you  would 
venture  to  ask  me  such  a  question!" 

"  I  will  only  ask  you,  my  son,  if  you  have  thought  how 
you  would  smirch  her  name  by  such  a  process  of  getting 
possession  of  her?" 

"Oh,"  he  said,  despairingly,  "what  is  the  use  of  talk 
ing  about  it  ?  I  can't  make  you  understand!" 

"Have  you  considered  that  you  will  ruin  Elizabeth?" 
she  insisted. 

"You  may  call  happiness  'ruin,'  if  you  want  to, 
mother.  We  don't — she  and  I." 

"I  suppose  you  wouldn't  believe  me  if  I  told  you  it 
wouldn't  be  happiness?" 

Her  question  was  too  absurd  to  answer.  Besides,  he 
was  determined  not  to  argue  with  her;  argument  would 
only  prolong  this  futile  and  distressing  interview.  So, 
holding  in  the  leash  of  respect  for  her,  contempt  for  her 
opinions,  he  listened  with  strained  and  silent  patience 
to  what  she  had  to  say  of  duty  and  endurance.  It  all 
belonged,  he  thought,  to  her  generation  and  to  her 
austere  goodness;  but  from  his  point  of  view  it  was 
childish.  When  at  last  he  spoke,  in  answer  to  an  in 
sistent  question  as  to  whether  Elizabeth  realized  how 
society  would  regard  her  course,  his  voice  as  well  as  his 
words  showed  his  entire  indifference  to  her  whole  argu 
ment.  "Yes,"  he  said;  "I  have  pointed  out  to  Eliza 
beth  the  fact  that  though  our  course  will  be  in  accord 
ance  with  a  Law  that  is  infinitely  higher  than  the  laws 
that  you  think  so  much  of,  there  will  be,  as  you  say, 
people  to  throw  mud  at  her." 

"A  'higher  law,'"  she  said,  slowly.  "I  have  heard 
of  the  'higher  law,'  David." 

"That  Elizabeth  will  obey  it  for  me,  that  she  is  willing 
to  expose  herself  to  the  contempt  of  little  minds,  makes 

456 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

me  adore  her!     And  I  am  willing,  I  love  her  enough,  to 
accept  her  sacrifice — " 

"Though  you  did  not  love  her  enough  to  accept  the 
trifling  matter  of  her  money  ?"  his  mother  broke  in. 

Sarcasm  from  her  was  so  totally  unexpected  that  for  a 
moment  he  did  not  realize  that  his  armor  had  been 
pierced.  "God  knows  I  believe  it  is  for  her  happiness," 
he  said;  then,  suddenly,  his  face  began  to  burn,  and  in  an 
instant  he  was  deeply  angry. 

"David,"  she  said,  "you  seem  very  sure  of  God; 
you  speak  His  name  very  often.  Have  you  really  con 
sidered  Him  in  your  plan?" 

He  smothered  an  impatient  exclamation;  "Mother, 
that  sort  of  talk  means  nothing  to  me;  and  apparently 
my  reason  for  my  course  means  nothing  to  you.  I  can't 
make  you  understand — " 

"  I  don't  need  you  to  make  me  understand,"  she  inter 
rupted  him;  "and  your  reason  is  older  than  you  are; 
I  guess  it  is  as  old  as  human  nature:  You  want  to  be 
happy.  That  is  your  reason,  David;  nothing  else." 

"Well,  it  satisfies  us,"  he  said,  coldly;  "I  wish  you 
wouldn't  insist  upon  discussing  it,  mother,  you  are  tired, 
and — ' ' 

"Yes,  I  am  tired,"  she  said,  with  a  gasp.  "David,  if 
you  will  promise  me  not  to  speak  to  Elizabeth  of  this 
until  you  and  I  can  talk  it  over  quietly — " 

"Elizabeth  and  I  are  going  away  together,  to-mor 
row." 

"  You  shall  not  do  it!"  she  cried. 

His  eyes  narrowed.  "  I  must  remind  you,"  he  said, 
"  that  I  am  not  a  boy.  I  will  do  what  seems  to  me  right, 
— right?"  he  interrupted  himself,  "why  is  it  you  can't 
see  that  it  is  right  ?  Can't  you  realize  that  Elizabeth  is 
mine?  It  is  amazing  to  me  that  you  can't  see  that 
Nature  gives  her  to  me,  by  a  Law  that  is  greater  than 
any  human  law  that  was  ever  made!" 

"The  animals  know  that  law,"  she  said. 
457 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

He  would  not  hear  her:  "That  unspeakable  scoundrel 
stole  her;  he  stole  her  just  as  much  as  if  he  had  drugged 
her  and  kidnapped  her.  Yes ;  I  take  my  own !" 

His  voice  rang  through  the  house;  Elizabeth,  in  her 
room,  shivering  with  excitement,  wondering  what  they 
were  saying,  those  two — heard  the  jar  of  furious  sound, 
and  crept,  trembling,  halfway  down-stairs. 

"I  take  my  own,"  he  repeated,  "and  I  will  make  her 
happy ;  she  belongs  in  my  arms,  if,  my  God !  we  die  the 
next  day!" 

"Oh,"  said  Helena  Richie,  suddenly  sobbing,  "what 
am  I  to  do  ?  what  am  I  to  do  ?"  As  she  spoke  Elizabeth 
entered.  David's  start  of  dismay,  his  quick  protest, 
"Go  back,  dear;  don't,  don't  get  into  this!"  was  domi 
nated  by  his  mother's  cry  of  relief;  she  rose  from  her 
chair  and  ran  to  Elizabeth,  holding  out  entreating  hands. 
"You  will  not  let  him  be  so  mad,  Elizabeth?  You  will 
not  let  him  be  so  bad?" 

"Mother,  for  Heaven's  sake,  stop!"  David  implored 
her;  "this  is  awful!" 

"  He  is  not  bad,"  Elizabeth  said,  in  a  low  voice,  passing 
those  outstretched  hands  without  a  look.  All  her  old 
antagonism  to  an  untempted  nature  seemed  to  leap  into 
her  face.  "I  heard  you  talking,  and  .1  came  down.  I 
could  not  let  you  reproach  David." 

"Haven't  I  the  right  to  reproach  him? — to  save  him 
from  dishonoring  himself  as  well  as  you  ?" 

"You  must  not  use  that  word!"  Elizabeth  cried  out, 
trembling  all  over.  "  David  is  not  dishonorable." 

" Not  dishonorable!  Do  you  say  there  is  nothing  dis 
honorable  in  taking  the  wife  of  another  man?" 

"Elizabeth,"  David  said,  quietly,  putting  his  arm 
around  her,  "my  mother  is  very  excited.  We  are  not 
going  to  talk  any  more  to-night.  Do  go  up-stairs,  dear." 
His  one  thought  was  to  get  her  out  of  the  room;  it  had 
been  dreadful  enough  to  struggle  with  his  mother  alone — 
power  and  passion  and  youth,  against  terror  and  weak- 

458 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

ness.  But  to  struggle  in  Elizabeth's  presence  would  be 
shocking.  Not,  he  assured  himself,  that  he  had  the 
slightest  misgiving  as  to  the  effect  upon  her  of  the  argu 
ments  to  which  he  had  been  obliged  to  listen,  but  .  .  . 

"Do  leave  us,  dearest,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice;  the 
misgiving  which  he  denied  had  driven  the  color  out  of  his 
face. 

His  mother  raised  her  hand  with  abrupt  command: 
"No,  Elizabeth  must  hear  what  I  have  to  say."  She 
heard  it  unmoved;  the  entreaty  not  to  wound  her  uncle's 
love,  and  hurt  Nannie's  pride,  and  betray  old  Miss 
White's  trust,  did  not  touch  her.  All  she  said  was,  "I 
am  sorry;  but  I  can't  help  it.  David  wants  me." 

Then  Helena  Richie  turned  again  to  her  son.  "How 
do  you  mean  to  support  your  mistress,  David  ?  Of 
course  the  scandal  will  end  your  career." 

Instantly  Elizabeth  quivered;  the  apprehension  in 
her  eyes  made  his  words  stumble:  "There — there  are 
other  things  than  my  profession.  I  am  not  afraid  that  I 
cannot  support  my  wife." 

But  that  flicker  of  alarm  in  Elizabeth's  eyes  had 
caught  Helena  Richie's  attention.  "Why,  Elizabeth," 
she  said,  in  an  astonished  voice.  "You  love  him!" 
Then  she  added,  simply:  "Forgive  me."  Her  words 
were  without  meaning  to  the  other  two,  but  they  brought 
a  burst  of  hope  into  her  entreaty:  " Then  you  won't  ruin 
him!  I  know  you  won't  ruin  my  boy — if  you  love  him." 

Elizabeth  flinched:  "David!  I  told  you — that  is 
what  I—" 

He  caught  her  hand  and  pressed  it  to  his  mouth. 
"Darling,  she  doesn't  understand." 

"  I  do  understand !"  his  mother  said.  She  paused  for  a 
breathless  moment,  and  stood  gripping  the  table,  looking 
with  dilating  eyes  and  these  two,  who,  loving  each  other, 
were  yet  preparing  to  murder  Love.  "I  thank  God," 
she  said,  and  the  elation  in  her  face  was  almost  joy; 
"  I  thank  God,  Elizabeth,  that  I  understand  the  disgrace 

459 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

such  wickedness  will  bring!  No  honest  man  will  trust 
him;  no  decent  woman  will  respect  you!  And  listen, 
Elizabeth:  even  you  will  not  really  trust  him;  and  he 
will  never  entirely  respect  you!" 

Elizabeth  slowly  drew  her  hand  from  David's — and 
instantly  he  knew  that  she  was  frightened.  What!  Was 
he  to  lose  her  again  ?  He  shook  with  rage.  When  under 
that  panic  storm  of  words,  that  menace  of  distrust  and 
disgrace,  Elizabeth,  in  an  agony  of  uncertainty,  hid  her 
face  in  her  hands,  David  could  have  killed  the  robber  who 
was  trying  to  tear  her  from  him.  He  burst  into  denun 
ciation  of  the  littleness  which  could  regard  their  course 
in  any  other  way  than  he  did  himself.  He  had  no  pity 
because  his  assailant  was  his  mother.  He  gave  no 
quarter  because  she  was  a  woman;  she  was  an  enemy! 
an  enemy  who  had  stolen  in  out  of  the  night  to  rob  him  of 
his  lately  won  treasure.  "  Don't  listen  to  her,"  he  ended, 
hoarsely ;  "  she  doesn't  know  what  she  is  talking 
about!" 

"  But,  David,  that  was  what  I  said.  I  said  it  would  be 
bad  for  you ;  she  says  it  will  ruin  you — " 

"It  is  a  lie!"  he  said. 

It  was  nearly  three  o'clock.  They  were  all  at  the 
breaking-point  of  anger  and  terror. 

"Elizabeth,"  Helena  Richie  implored,  "if  you  love 
him,  are  you  willing  to  destroy  him?  You  could  not 
bear  to  have  me,  his  mother,  speak  of  his  dishonor;  how 
about  letting  the  world  speak  of  it — if  you  love  him  ?" 

"David,"  Elizabeth  said  again,  her  shaking  hands  on 
his  arm;  "you  hear  what  she  says?  Perhaps  she  is 
right.  Oh,  I  think- she  is  right !  What  shall  I  do  ?" 

The  entreaty  was  the  entreaty  of  a  child,  a  frightened, 
bewildered  child.  Helena  Richie  caught  her  breath; 
for  a  single  strange  moment  she  forgot  her  agony  of  fear 
for  her  son;  the  woman  in  her  was  stronger  than  the 
mother  in  her;  some  obscure  impulse  ranged  her  with 
this  girl,  as  if  against  a  common  enemy.  "My  dear, 

460 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

my  dear!"  she  said,  "he  shall  not  have  you.  I  will  save 
you'" 

But  Elizabeth  was  not  listening.  "David,  if  I  should 
injure  you" — 

7"  You  will  ruin  him,"  his  mother  repeated. 

David  gave  her  a  deadly  look.  "You  will  kill  me, 
Elizabeth,  unless  you  come  to  me,"  he  said,  roughly. 
"Do  you  want  to  rob  me  again? — You've  done  it  once," 
he  reminded  her;  love  made  him  brutal. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  The  eyes  of  the 
mother  and  son  crossed  like  swords.  Elizabeth,  stand 
ing  between  them,  shivered ;  then  slowly  she  turned  to 
David,  and  held  out  her  hands,  her  open  palms  falling  at 
her  sides  with  a  gesture  of  complete  and  pitiful  surrender. 
"Very  well,  David.  I  won't  do  it  again.  I  won't  hurt 
you  again.  I  will  do  whatever  you  tell  me." 

David  caught  her  in  his  arms.  His  mother  trembled 
with  despair;  the  absolute  immovability  of  these  two 
was  awful! 

"Elizabeth,  he  is  selfish  and  wicked!  David,  have 
you  no  manhood  ?  Shame  on  you!"  Contempt  seemed 
her  last  resource;  it  did  not  touch  him.  "Wait  two  days," 
she  implored  him;  "one  day,  even — " 

"I  told  you  we  are  going  to-morrow,"  he  said.  He 
was  urging  Elizabeth  gently  from  the  room,  but  at  his 
mother's  voice  she  paused. 

"Suppose,"  Helena  Richie  was  saying — "suppose  that 
Blair  does  not  give  you  a  divorce?" 

Elizabeth  looked  into  David's  eyes  silently. 

"And,"  his  mother  said,  "when  David  gets  tired  of 
you — what  then?" 

"Mother!" 

"Men  do  tire  of  such  women,  Elizabeth.  What 
then?" 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  that,"  the  girl  said. 

The  room  was  very  still.  The  two  looking  into  each 
other's  eyes  needed  no  words;  the  battling  mother  had 

461 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

apparently  reached  the  end  of  effort.  Yet  it  was  not  the 
end.  As  she  stood  there  a  slow  illumination  grew  in  her 
face — the  knowledge,  tragic  and  triumphant,  that  if 
Love  would  save  others,  itself  it  cannot  save!  .  .  .  "  I'm 
not  afraid  that  he  will  tire  of  me,"  Elizabeth  had  said; 
and  David's  mother,  looking  at  him  with  ineffable  com 
passion,  said,  very  gently: 

"  I  was  not  afraid  of  that,  once,  myself." 

That  was  all.  She  was  standing  up,  clinging  to  the 
table;  her  face  gray,  her  chin  shaking.  They  neither  of 
them  grasped  the  sense  of  her  words;  then  suddenly 
David  caught  his  breath: 

"What  did  you  say?" 

"I  said —  She  stopped.  "Oh,  my  poor  David,  I 
wouldn't  tell  you  if  I  could  help  it ;  if  only  there  was  any 
other  way!  But  there  isn't.  I  have  tried,  oh,  I  have 
tried  every  other  way."  She  put  her  hands  over  her 
face  for  an  instant,  then  looked  at  him.  "David,  I  said 
that  /  was  not  afraid,  once,  myself,  that  my  lover  would 
tire  of  me."  There  was  absolute  silence  in  the  room. 
"  But  he  did,  Elizabeth.  He  did.  He  did." 

Then  David  said,  "I  don't  understand." 

"  Yes,  you  do ;  you  understand  that  a  man  once  talked 
to  me  just  as  you  are  talking  to  Elizabeth;  he  said  he 
would  marry  me  when  I  got  my  divorce.  I  think  he 
meant  it — just  as  you  mean  it,  now.  At  any  rate,  I  be 
lieved  him.  Just  as  Elizabeth  believes  you." 

David  Richie  stepped  back  violently;  his  whole  face 
shuddered.  "You?"  he  said,  "my  mother?  No! — 
no!— no!" 

And  his  mother,  gathering  up  her  strength,  cringing 
like  some  faithful  dog  struck  across  the  face,  pointed  at 
him  with  one  shaking  hand. 

"Elizabeth,  did  you  see  how  he  looked  at  me? 
Some  day  your  son  will  look  that  way  at  you." 


CHAPTER  XL 

No  one  spoke.  The  murmuring  crash  along  the  sands 
•was  suddenly  loud  in  their  ears,  but  the  room  was  still. 
It  was  the  stillness  of  finality;  David  had  lost  Eliza 
beth. 

He  knew  it ;  but  he  could  not  have  said  why  he  knew 
it.  Perhaps  none  of  the  great  decisions  of  passion  can  at 
the  moment  say  "why."  Under  the  lash  of  some  in 
visible  whip,  the  mind  leaps  this  way  or  that  without 
waiting  for  the  approval  of  Reason.  Certainly  David 
did  not.  wait  for  it  to  know  that  all  was  over  between 
him  and  Elizabeth.  He  did  not  reason — he  only  cringed 
back,  his  eyes  hidden  in  his  bent  arm,  and  gasped  out 
those  words  which,  scourging  his  mother,  arraigned  him 
self.  Nor  was  there  any  reason  in  Elizabeth's  cry  of 
"Oh,  Mrs.  Richie,  I  love  you";  or  in  her  run  across  the 
room  to  drop  upon  the  floor  beside  David's  mother, 
clasping  her  and  pressing  her  face  against  the  older 
woman's  shaking  knees.  "I  do  love  you — "  Only  in 
Helena  Richie's  mind  could  there  have  been  any  sort  of 
logic.  "This,"  her  ravaged  and  exalted  face  seemed  to 
say,  "this  was  why  he  was  given  to  me."  Once  he  had 
told  her  that  her  goodness  had  saved  him;  that  night 
her  goodness  had  not  availed.  And  God  had  used  her 
sm!  Aloud,  all  that. she  said  was: 

"David,  don't  feel  so  badly.  It  isn't  as  if  I  were 
your  own  mother,  you  know;  you  needn't  be  so  un 
happy,  David."  Her  eyes  yearned  over  him.  "You 
won't  do  it  ?"  she  said,  in  a  breathless  whisper. 

To  himself  he  was  saying:  "It  makes  no  difference! 
30  463 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

What  difference  can  it  possibly  make  ?  Not  a  particle ; 
not  a  particle."  Yet  some  deeper  self  must  have  known 
that  the  difference  was  made,  for  at  that  whispered 
question  he  seemed  to  shake  his  head.  But  Elizabeth, 
weeping,  said : 

"No;  we  won't — we  won't!  Dear  Mrs.  Richie,  I  love 
you.  David!  Speak  to  her." 

He  got  up  with  a  stupid  look,  then  hi<s  eye  fell  on  his 
mother's  face.  "You -are  worn  out,"  he  said  in  a  dazed 
way,  "You'll  come  up-stairs  now?  Elizabeth,  make  her 
go  up-stairs." 

She  was  worn  out;  she  nodded,  with  a  sort  of  meek 
obedience,  and  put  out  her  hand  to  Elizabeth.  David 
opened  the  door  for  them  and  followed  them  up-stairs. 
Would  his  mother  have  this  or  that  ?  Could  he  do  any 
thing?  Nothing,  nothing.  No,  Elizabeth  must  not 
stay  with  her,  please;  she  would  rather  be  alone.  As  he 
turned  away  she  called  to  him,  "Elizabeth  and  I  will 
take  the  noon  train,  David." 

And  he  said,  "Yes,  I  will  have  a  carriage  here." 

The  door  closed;  on  one  side  of  it  was  the  mother, 
exhausted  almost  to  unconsciousness,  yet  elate,  remem 
bering  no  more  the  anguish  for  joy  of  what  had  been  born 
out  of  it.  On  the  other  side  these  two,  still  ignorant — 
as  the  new-born  always  are — of  the  future  to  which  that 
travail  had  pledged  them.  They  stood  together  in  the 
narrow  upper  hall  and  their  pitiful  eyes  met  in  silence. 
Then  David  took  her  in  his  arms  and  held  her  for  a  long 
moment.  Then  he  kissed  her.  She  whispered,  "Good- 
by,  David."  But  he  was  speechless.  He  went  with  her 
to  her  own  door,  left  her  without  a  word,  and  went 
down-stairs. 

In  the  clamorous  emptiness  of  the  living-room  he 
looked  about  him ;  noticed  that  the  table-cover  was  still 
crumpled  from  his  mother's  hands  and  smoothed  it 
automatically;  then  he  sat  down.  He  had  the  sensa 
tion,  spiritually,  that  a  man  might  have  physically 

464 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

whose  face  had  been  violently  and  repeatedly  slapped. 
The  swiftness  of  the  confounding  experiences  of  the 
last  nine  hours  made  him  actually  dizzy.  His  thoughts 
rushed  to  one  thing,  then  to  another.  Elizabeth? 
No,  no;  he  could  not  think  of  her  yet.  His  mother? 
No,  he  could  not  think  of  her,  either.  It  occurred  to 
him  that  he  was  cold,  and  getting  up  abruptly,  he  went 
to  the  fireplace,  and  kicked  the  charred  sticks  of  drift 
wood  together  over  a  graying  bed  of  ashes .  Then  he  heard 
a  chair  pushed  back  overhead  and  a  soft,  tired  step,  and 
he  wondered  vaguely  if  his  mother's  room  was  comfort 
able.  Reaching  for  the  bellows,  he  knelt  down  and  blew 
the  reluctant  embers  into  a  faint  glow;  when  a  hesitant 
flicker  of  flame  caught  the  half-burned  logs  he  got  on  his 
feet  and  stood,  his  fingers  on  the  mantelpiece,  his  fore 
head  on  the  back  of  his  hand,  watching  the  fire  catch  and 
crackle  into  cheerful  warmth.  He  stood  there  for  a  long 
time.  Suddenly  his  cheek  grew  rigid:  some  man,  some 
beast,  had — my  God!  wronged  Maternal  It  was  the 
first  really  clear  thought;  instantly  some  other  thought 
must  have  sprung  up  to  meet  it,  for  he  said,  under  his 
breath,  "No,  because  I  didn't  mean  ...  it  is  different 
with  us;  quite  different!"  The  thought,  whatever 
it  was,  must  have  persisted,  for  it  stung  him  into  rest 
less  movement.  He  began  to  walk  about;  once  or 
twice  he  stumbled  over  a  footstool,  that  his  eyes,  looking 
blindly  at  the  floor,  apparently  did  not  see.  Once  he 
stood  stock-still,  the  blood  surging  in  his  ears,  his  face 
darkly  red.  But  his  mind  was  ruthlessly  clear.  He 
was  remembering;  he  was  putting  two  and  two  together. 
She  was  a  widow;  he  knew  that.  Her  marriage  had 
been  unhappy;  he  knew  that.  There  had  been  a  man — 
he  dimly  remembered  a  man.  He  had  not  thought  of 
him  for  twenty  years!  .  .  .  "Damn  him,"  David  said, 
and  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  Then  again  that  thought 
must  have  come  to  him,  for  he  said  to  himself,  violently, 
"But  I  love  Elizabeth,  it  is  different  with  me!"  Per- 

465 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

haps  that  persistent  inner  voice  said,  "In  what  way?" 
for  he  said  again,  "Entirely  different!  It  is  the  only 
way  to  make  him  divorce  her  so  we  can  be  married." 
Again  he  stood  still  and  stared  blindly  at  the  floor.  That 
a  man  could  live  who  would  be  base  enough  to  take 
advantage  of — Maternal  Between  rage  and  pity,  and 
confusion  he  almost  forgot  Elizabeth,  until  suddenly  the 
whirl  of  his  thoughts  was  pierced  by  the  poignant  realiza 
tion  that  his  outcry  of  dismay  at  his  mother's  confession 
had  practically  told  Elizabeth  that  he  was  willing  to  let 
her  do  what  he  found  unthinkable  in  his  mother.  His 
whole  body  winced  with  mortification.  It  was  the  first 
prick  of  the  sword  of  shame — that  sword  of  the  Lord! 
Even  while  he  reddened  to  his  forehead  the  sword-thrust 
came  again  in  a  flash  of  memory.  It  was  only  a  single 
sentence;  neither  argument  nor  entreaty  nor  remon 
strance;  merely  the  statement  of  a  fact:  "you  did  not 
love  her  enough  to  accept  her  money."  At  the  time  those 
ironical  words  were  spoken  they  had  scarcely  any  mean 
ing  to  him,  and  what  meaning  they  had  was  instantly 
extinguished  by  anger.  Now  abruptly  they  reverber 
ated  in  his  ears.  He  forgot  his  mother;  he  forgot  the 
"beast,"  who  was,  after  all,  only  the  same  kind  of  a 
beast  that  he  was  himself.  "  You,  who  could  not  accept 
a  girl's  money  could  take  her  good  name;  could  urge 
her  to  a  course  which  in  your  mother  overwhelms  you 
with  horror ;  could  ask  her  to  give  you  that  which  ranks 
a  man  who  accepted  it  from  your  mother  as  a  'beast.'" 
David  had  never  felt  shame  before;  he  had  known 
mortification,  and  regret,  too,  to  a  greater  or  less  degree; 
and  certainly  he  had  known  remorse;  he  had  experi 
enced  the  futile  rage  of  a  man  wno  realizes  that  he  has 
made  a  fool  of  himself;  these  things  he  had  known, 
as  every  man  nearly  thirty  years  old  must  know 
them.  Especially  and  cruelly  he  had  known  them 
when  he  understood  the  effect  of  the  reasoning  ego 
tism  of  his  letter  upon  Elizabeth.  But  the  beneficent 

466 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

agony  of  shame  he  had  never  known  until  this  mo 
ment. 

In  the  next  hour  or  two,  while  the  flame  of  the  lamp 
still  burning  on  the  table,  whitened  in  the  desolating 
morning  light  that  crept  into  the  room,  David  Richie 
did  not  reason  things  out  consecutively.  His  thoughts 
came  without  apparent  sequence;  sometimes  he  won 
dered,  dully,  if  it  were  still  raining;  wondered  how  he 
would  get  a  carriage  in  the  morning;  wondered  if  Eliza 
beth  was  asleep ;  wondered  if  she  would  go  back  to  Blair 
Maitland?  "No,  no,  no!"  he  said  aloud;  "not  that; 
that  can't  be."  Yet  through  all  this  disjointed  thought 
his  eyes,  cleared  by  shame,  saw  Reason  coming  slowly 
up  to  explain  and  confirm  his  conviction  that,  whatever 
Elizabeth  did  or  did  not  do,  for  the  present  he  had  lost 
her.  And  Reason,  showing  him  his  likeness  to  that 
other  "beast,"  showing  him  his  arrogance  to  his  mother, 
his  cruelty  to  his  poor  girl,  his  poor,  pitiful  Elizabeth! 
showed  him  something  else :  his  assertions  of  his  intrinsic 
right  to  Elizabeth — how  much  of  their  force  was  due  to 
love  for  her,  how  much  to  hatred  of  Blair?  David's 
habit  of  corroborating  his  emotions  by  a  mental  process 
had  more  than  once  shackled  him  and  kept  him  from 
those  divine  impetuosities  that  add  to  the  danger  and  the 
richness  of  life;  but  this  time  the  logical  habit  led  him 
inexorably  into  deeper  depths  of  humiliation.  It  was 
dawn  when  he  saw  that  he  had  hated  Blair  more  than  he 
had  loved  Elizabeth.  This  was  the  most  intolerable 
revelation  of  all ;  he  had  actually  been  about  to  use  Love 
to  express  Hate! 

Up-stairs  Elizabeth  had  had  her  own  vision;  it  was 
not  like  David's.  There  was  no  sense  of  shame.  There 
was  only  Love!  Love,  pitiful,  heart-breaking,  remorse 
ful.  When  David  left  her  she  sank  down  on  the  edge  of 
her  bed  and  cried — not  for  disapointment  or  dread  or 
perplexity,  not  for  herself,  not  for  David,  but  for  Helena 
Richie.  Once  she  crept  across  the  hall  and  listened  at 

467 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

the  closed  door.  Silence.  Then  she  pushed  it  open  and 
listened  again.  Oh,  to  go  to  her,  to  put  her  arms  about 
her,  to  say,  "I  will  be  good,  I  will  do  whatever  you  say, 
I  love  you."  But  all  was  still  except  for  soft,  scarcely 
heard,  tranquil  breathing.  For  David's  mother  slept. 

When  Elizabeth  came  down  the  next  morning  it  was 
to  the  crackle  of  flames  and  the  smell  of  coffee  and  the 
sight  of  David  scorching  his  face  over  toasting  bread.  It 
was  so  unheroic  that  it  was  almost  heroic,  for  it  meant 
that  they  could  keep  on  the  surface  of  life.  David 
said,  simply,  "Did  you  get  any  sleep,  Elizabeth?"  and 
she  said:  "Well,  not  much.  Here,  let  me  make  the 
toast;  you  get  something  for  your  mother."  But  when 
she  carried  a  little  tray  of  food  up  to  Mrs.  Richie,  and 
kneeling  by  the  bedside  took  the  soft  mother-hand  in 
hers,  she  went  below  the  surface. 

"I  am  going  back  to  him,"  she  said;  and  put  Mrs. 
Richie's  hand  against  her  lips. 

David's  mother  gave  her  a  long  look,  but  she  had 
nothing  to  say. 

Later,  as  they  came  down-stairs  together,  Eliza 
beth,  still  holding  that  gentle  hand  in  hers,  felt  it  tremble 
when  Helena  Richie  met  her  son.  Perhaps  his  trembled, 
too,  Yet  his  tenderness  and  consideration  for  her,  as 
he  told  her  how  he  had  arranged  for  her  journey  to  town 
was  almost  ceremonious;  it  seemed  as  if  he  dared  not 
come  too  near  her.  It  was  not  until  he  was  helping  her 
into  the  carriage  that  he  made  any  reference  to  the  night 
before : 

"I  have  given  her  up,"  he  said,  almost  in  a  whisper, 
"but  she  can't  go  back  to  him,  you  know — that  can't  be! 
Mother,  that  can't  be?" 

But  she  was  silent.  Then  Elizabeth  came  up  behind 
him  and  got  into  the  carriage;  there  were  no  good-bys 
between  them. 

"I  shall  come  to  town  to-morrow  on  the  noon  train," 
he  told  his  mother;  and  she  looked  at  him  as  one  looks  at 

468 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

another  human  creature  who  turns  his  face  toward  the 
wilderness.  There  was  nothing  more  that  she  could  do 
for  him;  he  must  hunger  and  know  how  he  might  be 
fed;  he  must  hear  the  lying  whisper  that  if  he  broke  the 
Law,  angelic  hands  would  prevent  the  law  from  breaking 
him;  he  must  see  the  Kingdom  he  desired,  the  glory  of 
it,  and  its  easy  price.  He  must  save  himself. 

Elizabeth,  groping  for  Mrs.  Richie's  hand,  held  it 
tightly  in  hers,  and  the  old  carriage  began  its  slow  tug 
along  the  road  that  wound  in  and  out  among  the 
dunes.  .  .  . 

The  story  of  David  and  Elizabeth  and  Blair  pauses 
here. 

Or  perhaps  one  might  say  it  begins  here.  A  decision 
such  as  was  reached  in  the  little  house  by  the  sea  is  not 
only  an  end,  it  is  also  a  beginning.  In  their  bleak  cer 
tainty  that  they  were  parted,  David  and  Elizabeth  had 
none,  of  that  relief  of  the  dismissal  of  effort,  which  marks 
the  end  of  an  experience.  Effort  was  all  before  them; 
for  the  decision  not  to  change  conditions  did  not  at  the 
moment  change  character;  and  it  never  changed  tem 
peraments.  Elizabeth  was  as  far  from  self-control  on 
the  morning  after  that  decision  as  she  had  been  in  the 
evening  thai  preceded  it.  There  had  to  be  many  even 
ings  of  rebellion,  manymornings  of  taking  up  her  burden; 
the  story  of  them  begins  when  she  knew,  without  reason 
ing  about  it,  that  the  hope  of  escape  from  them  had  ceased. 

Because  of  those  gray  hours  of  dawn  and  shame  and 
self-knowledge,  love  did  not  end  in  David,  nor  did  he 
cease  to  be  rational  and  inarticulate;  there  had  to  be 
weeks  of  silent,  vehement  refusal  to  accept  the  situation : 
something  must  be  done !  Elizabeth  must  get  a  divorce 
"somehow"!  It  would  take  time,  a  long  time,  perhaps; 
but  she  must  get  it,  and  then  they  would  marry.  There 
had  to  be  weeks  of  argument:  "why  should  I  sacrifice 
my  happiness  to  '  preserve  the  ideal  of  the  permanence  of 

469 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

marriage'  ?"  There  had  to  be  weeks  of  imprisonment  in 
himself  before  a  night  came  when  his  mother  woke  to 
find  him  at  her  bedside:  "Mother — mother — mother," 
he  said.  What  else  he  said,  how  in  his  agonizing  dumb 
ness  he  was  able  to  tell  her  that  she  was  the  mother, 
not,  indeed,  of  his  body,  but  of  his  soul — was  only  for 
her  ears;  what  his  face,  hidden  in  her  pillow, confessed, the 
quiet  darkness  held  inviolate.  This  silent  man's  experi 
ences  of  shame  and  courage,  began  that  night  when,  in 
the  fire-lit  room,  besieged  by  darkness  and  the  storm, 
that  other  experience  ended. 

Blair's  opportunity — the  divine  opportunity  of  sacri 
fice,  had  its  beginning  in  that  same  desolate  End.  But 
there  had  to  be  angry  days  of  refusing  to  recognize  any 
opportunity — life  had  not  trained  him  to  such  courageous 
recognition !  There  had  to  be  days  when  the  magnanim 
ity  of  his  prisoner  in  returning  to  her  prison  was  unen 
durable  to  him.  There  had  to  be  months,  before,  goaded 
by  his  god,  he  urged  his  hesitating  manhood  to  abide  by 
the  decision  of  chance  whether  or  not  he  should  offer  her 
her  freedom.  There  even  had  to  be  days  of  deciding 
just  what  the  chance  should  be ! 

There  had  to  be  for  these  three  people,  caught  in  the 
mesh  of  circumstance,  time  for  growth  and  for  hope,  and 
that  is  why  their  story  pauses  just  when  the  angel  has 
troubled  the  water.  All  the  impulses  and  the  resolutions 
that  had  their  beginnings  in  that  End,  are  like  circles 
on  that  troubled  water,  spreading,  spreading,  spreading, 
until  they  touch  Eternity.  At  first  the  circles  were  not 
seen ;  only  the  turmoil  in  the  pool  when  the  angel  touched 
it.  And  how  dark  the  water  was  with  the  sediment  of 
doubt  and  fear  and  loss  in  the  days  that  followed  that 
decision  which  was  the  beginning  of  all  the  circles! 

Robert  Ferguson  and  David's  mother  used  to  wonder 
how  they  could  any  of  them  get  through  the  next  few 
months..  "But  good  is  going  to  come  out  of  it  some 
how,"  Helena  Richie  said  once. 

470 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Oh,  you  mean  'character'  and  all  that  sort  of  thing," 
he  said,  sighing.  "I  tell  you  what  it  is,  I'm  a  lot  more 
concerned  about  my  child's  happiness  than  her  'charac 
ter.'  Elizabeth  is  good  enough  for  me  as  she  is." 

David's  mother  had  no  rtfbuke  for  him;  she  looked  at 
him  with  pitying  eyes;  he  was  so  very  unhappy  in  his 
child's  unhappiness!  She  herself  was  doing  all  she  could 
for  the  "child";  she  was  in  Mercer  most  of  that  winter. 
"  No,  I  won't  hire  the  house,"  she  told  the  persistent  land 
lord  ;  "I  can't  afford  it ;  I'm  only  here  for  a  few  days  at  a 
time.  No,  you  sha'n't  lower  the  rent!  Robert,  Robert, 
what  shall  I  do  to  keep  you  from  being  so  foolish?  I 
wouldn't  live  there  if  you  gave  me  the  house!  I  want  to 
stay  at  the  hotel  and  be  near  Elizabeth." 

In  her  frequent  visits  in  those  next  few  months  she 
grew  very  near  to  Elizabeth ;  it  was  a  wonderfully  tender 
relation,  full  of  humility  on  both  sides. 

"I  never  knew  how  good  you  were,  Mrs.  Richie," 
Elizabeth  said. 

"I  never  really  understood  you,  dear  child,"  Helena 
Richie  confessed.  She  drew  near  Blair,  too;  she  knew 
how  he  had  borne  the  story  Elizabeth  told  him  when  she 
came  back  to  Mercer;  she  knew  the  recoil  of  anger  and 
jealousy,  then  the  reaction  of  cringing  acceptance  of  the 
fact;  she  knew  his  passionate  efforts,  as  the  winter 
passed,  to  buy  his  way  into  his  wife's  friendship  by  doing 
everything  he  fancied  might  please  her.  She  knew  why 
he  asked  Mr.  Ferguson  to  find  a  place  for  him  in  the 
Works,  and  why  he  induced  Nannie  to  take  the  money 
he  believed  to  be  his,  and  build  a  hospital.  "He  is 
going  to  use  the  old  house  for  it,"  Mrs.  Richie  told  Mr. 
Ferguson;  "well!  it's  one  way  of  getting  Nannie  out  of 
it,  though  I'm  afraid  he'll  have  to  turn  the  workmen 
in  and  rebuild  over  her  head  before  he  can  move 
her."  - 

"It's  the  bait  in  the  trap,"  Robert  Ferguson  said,  con 
temptuously. 

47i 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

"Well,  suppose  it  is?  Can  you  blame  him  for  trying 
to  win  her?" 

"He'll  never  succeed.  If  he  was  half-way  honest  he 
would  have  offered  to  let  her  go  in  the  first  place.  If  he 
expects  any  story-book  business  of  '  duty  creating  love ' 
he'll  come  out  the  small  end  of  the  horn." 

"I  suppose  he  hopes,"  she  admitted.  But  she  sighed. 
She  knew  those  hopes  would  never  be  realized,  and  she 
felt  the  pain  of  that  poor,  selfish,  passionate  heart  until 
her  own  ached.  Yes,  of  course  he  ought  to  'offer  to  let 
her  go.'  She  knew  that  as  well  as  Elizabeth's  uncle 
himself.  "And  he  will,"  she  said  to  herself.  Then  her 
face  was  softly  illuminated  by  the  lambent  flame  of  some 
inner  serenity:  "But  she  won't  go!" 

Those  were  the  days  when  Blair  would  not  recognize 
his  opportunity.  It  was  not  because  it  was  not  pointed 
out  to  him. 

"I'm  certain  that  a  divorce  could  be  fixed  up  some 
way,"  Robert  Ferguson  said  once,  "and  I  hinted  as  much 
to  him.  I  told  him  she  couldn't  endure  the  sight  of  him." 

"Do  you  call  that  a  hint?" 

"Well,  he  didn't  take  it,  anyway.  Of  course,  if  noth 
ing  moves  him,  I  suppose  I  can  shoot  him?" 

She  smiled.  "You  won't  have  to  shoot  him.  He  is 
very  unhappy.  Wait." 

"  For  a  change  of  heart  ?  It  will  never  come !  No,  the 
marriage  was  a  travesty  from  the  beginning,  and  I  ought 
to  have  pulled  her  out  of  it.  I  did  suggest  it  to  her,  but 
she  said  she  was  going  to  stick  it  out  like  a  man." 

Blair  was  indeed  unhappy.  His  god  was  tormenting 
him  by  contrasting  Elizabeth's  generosity  with  his 
selfishness.  It  was  then  that  he  saw,  terror-stricken, 
his  opportunity.  He  tried  not  to  see  it.  He  denied  it, 
he  struggled  against  it ;  yet  all  the  while  he  was  drawn 
by  an  agonized  curiosity  to  consider  it.  Finally,  with 
averted  eyes,  he  held  out  shrinking  hands  to  chance,  to 
see  if  opportunity  would  fall  into  them.  This  was  some 

472 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

six  months  after  she  had  come  back  to  him;  six  months 
on  her  part  of  clinging  to  Mrs.  Richie's  strength;  of  won 
dering  if  David,  working  hard  in  Philadelphia,  was  be 
ginning  to  be  happier;  of  wondering  if  Blair  was  really 
any  happier  for  her  weariness  of  soul.  Six  months  on 
Blair's  part,  of  futile  moments  of  hope  because  Eliza 
beth  seemed  a  little  kinder; — "  perhaps  she's  beginning  to 
care!"  he  would  say  to  himself;  six  months  of  agonizing 
jealousy  when  he  knew  she  did  not  care;  of  persistent, 
useless  endeavors  to  touch  her  heart;  of  endless  small, 
pathetic  sacrifices;  of  endless  small,  pathetic  angers  and 
repentances.  "Blair,"  she  used  to  say,  with  wonderful 
patience,  after  one  of  these  glimmerings  of  hope  had 
arisen  in  him  because  of  some  careless  amiability  on  her 
part,  "I  am  sorry  to  be  unkind;  I  wish  you  would  get 
over  caring  about  me,  but  all  I  can  do  ever  is  just  to  be 
friends.  No,  I  don't  hate  you.  Why  should  I  hate 
you?  You  didn't  wrong  me  any  more  than  I  wronged 
you.  We  are  just  the  same;  two  bad  people.  But  I'm 
trying  to  be  good,  truly  I  am;  and — and  I'm  sorry  for 
you,  Blair,  dear.  That's  all  I  can  say." 

It  was  after  one  of  those  miserable  discussions  between 
the  husband  and  wife  that  Blair  had  gone  out  of  the 
hotel  with  violent  words  of  despair.  He  never  knew 
just  where  he  spent  that  day — certainly  not  in  the  office 
at  the  Works;  but  wherever  it  was,  it  brought  him  face 
to  face  with  his  opportunity.  Should  he  accept  it? 
Should  he  refuse  it?  He  said  to  himself  that  he  could 
npt  decide.  Perhaps  he  was  right;  he  had  shirked  de 
cisions  all  his  life;  perhaps  so  great  a  decision  was  im 
possible  for  him.  At  any  rate,  he  thought  it  was.  Some 
thing  must  decide  for  him.  What  should  it  be?  All 
that  afternoon  he  tried  to  make  a  small  decision  which 
should  settle  the  great  decision.  Of  course,  he  might 
pitch  up  a  penny?  no,  the  swiftness  of  such  judgment 
seemed  beyond  endurance;  he  might  say:  "if  it  rains 
before  noon,  I'll  let  her  go;"  then  he  could  watch  the 

473 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

skies,  and  meet  the  decision  gradually;  no;  it  rained 
so  often  in  March !  If  when  he  got  back  to  the  hotel  he 
found  her  wearing  this  piece  of  jewelry  or  that;  if  the 
grimy  pigeon,  teetering  up  and  down  on  the  granite 
coping  across  the  street,  flew  away  before  he  reached  the 
next  crossing.  ...  On  and  on  his  mind  went,  jibing 
away,  terrified,  from  each  suggestion;  then  returning  to 
it  again.  It  was  dusk  when  he  came  back  to  the  hotel. 
David's  mother  was  sitting  with  Elizabeth,  and  they 
were  talking,  idly,  of  Nannie's  new  house,  or  Cherry-pie's 
bad  cold,  or  anything  but  the  one  thing  that  was  always 
on  their  minds,  when,  abruptly,  Blair  entered.  He 
flung  open  the  door  with  a  bang, — then  stood  stock- 
still  on  the  threshold.  He  was  very  pale,  but  the 
room  was  so  shadowy  that  his  pallor  was  not  no 
ticed. 

"  Why  are  you  sitting  here  in  the  dark!"  he  cried  out, 
violently.  "  Why  don't  you  light  the  gas  ?  Good  God !". 
he  said,  almost  with  a  sob.  Elizabeth  looked  at  him  in 
astonishment;  before  she  could  reply  that  she  and  Mrs. 
Richie  liked  the  dusk  and  the  firelight,  he  saw  that  she 
was  not  alone,  and  burst  into  a  loud  laugh:  "Mrs. 
Richie  here?  How  appropriate!"  He  came  forward 
into  the  circle  of  flickering  light,  but  he  seemed  to  walk 
unsteadily  and  his  face  was  ghastly.  Helena  Richie 
gave  him  a  startled  look.  Blair's  gentleness  had  never 
failed  David's  mother  before;  she  thought,  with  con 
sternation,  that  he  had  been  drinking.  Perhaps  her 
gravity  checked  his  reckless  mood,  for  he  said  more 
gently:  "I  beg  your  pardon;  I  didn't  see  you,  Mrs. 
Richie.  I  was  startled  because  everything  was  dark. 
Outer  darkness!  Please  don't  go, — it's  so  appropriate 
for  you  to  be  here!"  he  ended.  Again  his  voice  was 
sardonic.  Mrs.  Richie  said,  coldly,  that  she  had  been 
just  about  to  return  to  her  own  room.  As  she  left  them, 
she  said  to  herself,  anxiously,  that  she  was  afraid  there 
was  something  the  matter.  She  would  have  been  sure 

474 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

of  it  had  she  stayed  in  the  twilight  with  the  husband 
and  wife. 

"I'll  light  the  gas,"  Elizabeth  said,  rising.  But  he 
caught  her  wrist. 

"No!  No!  there's  no  use  lighting  up  now."  As  he 
spoke  he  pulled  her  down  on  his  knee.  "Elizabeth,  is 
there  no  hope?"  he  said;  "none?  none?''  She  was 
silent.  He  leaned  his  forehead  on  her  shoulder  for  a 
moment,  and  she  heard  that  dreadful  sound — a  man's 
weeping.  Then  suddenly,  roughly,  he  flung  his  arms 
about  her,  and  kissed  her  violently — her  lips,  her  eyes, 
her  neck;  the  next  moment  he  pushed  her  from  his  knee. 
"Why,  why  did  you  sit  here  in  the  dark  to-night?  I 
never  knew  you  to  sit  in  the  dark!"  He  got  on  his  feet, 
leaving  her,  standing  amazed  and  offended,  her  hair 
ruffled,  the  lace  about  her  throat  in  disorder;  at  the  win 
dow,  his  back  turned  to  her,  he  flung  over  his  shoulder: 
"  Look  here — you  can  go.  I  won't  hold  you  any  longer. 
I  suppose  your  uncle  can  fix  it  up ;  some  damned  legal 
quibble  will  get  you  out  of  it.  I — I'll  do  my  part." 

Before  she  could  ask  him  what  he  meant  he  went  out. 
He  had  accepted  his  opportunity! 

But  it  was  not  until  the  next  day  that  she  really  under 
stood. 

"He  says,"  Mrs.  Richie  told  Robert  Ferguson,  "that 
he  will  take  Nannie  and  go  abroad  definitely;  she  can  call 
it  desertion.  Yes;  on  Nannie's  money  of  course-;  how 
else  could  he  go?  Oh,  my  poor  Blair!" 

" '  Poor  Blair'  ?  He  deserves  all  he  gets,"  Elizabeth's 
uncle  said,  after  his  first  astonishment.  Then,  in  spite  of 
himself,  he  was  sorry  for  Blair.  "I  suppose  he's  hard 
hit,"  he  said,  grudgingly,  "but  as  for  'poor  Blair,'  J 
don't  believe  it  goes  very  deep  with  him.  You  say  he 
was  out  of  temper  because  she  had  not  lighted  up,  and 
told  her  she  could  go  ?  Rather  a  casual  way  of  getting 
rid  of  a  wife." 

"  Robert,  how  can  you  be  so  unjust?"  she  reproached 
475 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

him.     "Oh,  perhaps  he  will  be  a  man  yet!     How  proud 
his  mother  would  be." 

"My  dear  Helena,  one  swallow  doesn't  make  a  sum 
mer."  Then,  a  little  ashamed  of  his  harshness,  he  added, 
"No,  he'll  never  be  very  much  of  a  person;  but  he's 
his  mother's  son,  so  he  can't  be  all  bad;  he'll  just  wander 
round  Europe,  with  Nannie  tagging  on  behind,  enjoying 
himself  more  or  less  harmlessly." 

"Robert,"  she  said,  softly,  "I'm  not  sure  that  Eliza 
beth  will  accept  his  sacrifice." 

"What!  Not  accept  it?  Nonsense!  Of  course  she'll 
accept  it.  I  should  have  doubts  of  her  sanity  if  she 
didn't.  If  Blair  had  been  half  as  much  of  a  man  as  his 
mother,  he'd  have  made  the  '  sacrifice,'  as  you  call  it,  long 
ago.  Helena,  you're  too  extreme.  Duty  is  well  enough, 
but  don't  run  it  into  the  ground." 

Mrs.  Richie  was  silent. 

"Helena,  you  know  she  ought  to  leave  him!" 

"If  every  woman  left  unpleasant  conditions — mind, 
he  isn't  unkind  or  wicked;  what  would  become  of  us 
Robert?" 

Elizabeth's  uncle  would  not  pursue  her  logic;  his  face 
suddenly  softened:  "Well,  David  will  coma  to  his  own 
at  last!  I  wonder  how  soon  after  the  thing  is  fixed  up 
(if  it  can  be  fixed  up)  they  can  marry?" 

The  color  rose  sharply  in  her  face. 

"You  think  they  won't?"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  hope  not.     Oh,  I  hope  not!" 

"Why  not  ?"  he  said,  affronted. 

"  Because  I  don't  want  them,  just  for  their  own  happi 
ness,  to  do  what  seems  to  me  wrong." 

"Wrong!  If  the  law  permits  it,  you  can't  say  '  wrong.' " 

"/think  it  is,"  she  said  timidly;  then  tried  to  explain 
that  it  seemed  to  her  that  no  one,  for  his  own  happi 
ness,  had  a  right  to  do  a  thing  which  would  injure  an 
ideal  by  which  the  rest  of  us  live;  "  I  don't  express  it  very 
well,"  she  said,  flushing. 

476 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

Robert  Ferguson  snorted.  "That's  high  talk;  well 
enough  for  angels ;  but  no  men  and  mighty  few  women 
are  angels.  I,"  he  interrupted  himself  hurriedly,  "I 
don't  like  angel  women  myself." 

She  smiled  a  little  sadly.  "And  besides  that,"  she 
said,  "it  seems  to  me  we  ought  to  take  the  conse 
quences  of  our  sins.  I  think  they  ought,  all  three 
of  them,  to  just  try  and  make  the  best  of  things. 
Robert,  did  it  ever  strike  you  that  making  the  best 
of  things  was  one  way  of  entering  the  Kingdom  of 
Heaven?" 

He  gave  her  a  tender  look,  but  he  shook  his  head. 
"Helena,"  he  said,  gently,  "do  you  mind  telling  me 
how  you  finally  brought  them  to  their  senses  that 
night?  Don't  if  you'd  rather  not." 

Her  face  quivered.  "  I  would  rather.  There  was  only 
one  way;  I  ...  told  them,  Robert." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then  Robert  Ferguson 
twitched  his  glasses  off  and  began  to  polish  them.  "  You 
are  an  angel,  after  all,"  he  said.  Then  he  lifted  a  ribbon 
falling  from  her  waist,  and  kissed  it. 

"  I  sha'n't  try  to  influence  either  David  or  Elizabeth," 
she  said;  "they  will  do  what  they  think  right;  it  may 
not  be  my  right — " 

" It  won't  be,"  he  told  her,  dryly;  "once  a  man  is  free 
to  marry  his  girl,  mothers  take  a  back  seat." 

She  smiled  wisely. 

'*Oh,  you  can  smile;  but,  my  dear  Helena,  the  apron- 
string  won't  do  for  a  man  who  is  thirty  years  old.  Yes, 
they'll  do  as  they  choose,  in  spite  of  either  you  or  me— 
and  7  know  what  it  will  be!" 

"  Poor  Blair,"  she  said,  sighing.  "  Robert,  if  she  leaves 
him  you  will  be  kind  to  him,  won't  you  ?  He's  never  had 
a  chance — " 

But  he  was  not  thinking  of  Blair;  he  was  looking 
in D  her  face,  and  his  own  face  moved  with  emotion: 
"Helena,  don't  be  obstinate  any  longer.  We  have  so 

477 


THE    IRON    WOMAN 

little  time  left!  I  don't  ask  you  to  love  me,  but  just 
marry  me,  Helena." 

"Oh,  my  dear  Robert—" 

"Will  you?" 

"If  I  lived  here,"  she  said  breathlessly,  "my  boy 
could  not  come  to  see  me." 

"Is  that  the  reason  you  won't  say  yes?" 

She  was  silent. 

"Will  you?"  he  said  again. 

Her  Voice  was  so  low  he  could  hardly  hear  her  answer : 
"No." 

And  at  that  his  face  glowed  with  sudden,  amazed 
assurance.  "Why,"  he  cried,  "you  love  me!" 

She  looked  at  him  beseechingly.     "Robert,  please — " 

"  Life  has  been  good  to  me,  after  all,"  he  said,  joyously ; 
"  I've  got  what  I  don't  deserve!" 

Helena  was  silent. 


THE     END 


of/ 


FOURTEEN  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


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University  of  California 

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